


something to ruin

by Blanquette



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Being Lost, Coping, Desire, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Porn, Face-Fucking, Falling In Love, Feelings Realization, Friendship, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Late at Night, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, Oral Sex, Sexual Tension, Strangers to Lovers, Tattoos, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Yearning, tattoo parlor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:35:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29431086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blanquette/pseuds/Blanquette
Summary: Kihyun goes to find Minhyuk with blood on his teeth and fire between his ribs. He finds Hyungwon instead, dark eyes and darker lines tracing a path on his skin. Kihyun falls, yet everything that begins must end.
Relationships: Chae Hyungwon/Yoo Kihyun
Comments: 5
Kudos: 51





	something to ruin

**Author's Note:**

> Welp this was supposed to be short and intense and then it got long and emo but this is like a staple for me so I should have seen that coming I guess.  
> Also I've had like three meltdowns in the course of writing it so if it feels like a crisis it's because it is. 
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy it!

**1.**

Kihyun lifts his hand, rapping his knuckles on the cold metal of Minhyuk’s apartment door. The gesture wakes the dull pain in his fingers and he stares at the tiny cuts on his hand, wondering how they’d gotten there. He remembers the reason for the purple bruise on his cheekbone, for the taste of blood on his lips. Not this, though, and he’s still staring when the door swings open. His gaze lifts a second too late, and the fact that it’s not Minhyuk standing there has him fumbling for the appropriate words to say to strangers. The guy beats him to it, though, a lazy smile on his lips as he leans against the doorframe.

“You’re Kihyun, aren’t you?” he asks in a soft voice, words bleeding into each other to Kihyun’s still ringing ears.

“How do you know that?” Kihyun answers and he’s trying to steady his gaze but his body keeps wanting to tilt forward, an ache between his ribs stabbing him with each breath.

The guy shrugs, his smile growing into something difficult to interpret. He’s much too relaxed, Kihyun thinks, leaning there against the doorframe, dark hair spilling into his eyes, offbeat smile on his full lips.

“He has only one friend who keeps coming to leave bloody rags in the bathroom. Don’t you have anywhere else to clean up?”

His tone is more amused than annoyed and Kihyun tries a smile, face seizing into a wince when it tugs at the cut on his bottom lip, the taste of fresh blood invading his mouth with a sticky warmth.

“Sorry?” he says, and it seems the conversation ends there, the guy content to just watch him bleed out on the threshold, gangly arms crossed over his chest.

“I’m assuming Minhyuk is out,” Kihyun tries again, his voice raw. He’d been shouting, he recalls, and then he abruptly remembers how the cuts got on his hands, too. Crushed glass underfoot and when he’d fallen it had sliced into his palms.

“You’ve got blood on your teeth,” the guy says and Kihyun closes his mouth, suddenly self-conscious. Is that what people feel when someone points out their lipstick smeared? He slides his tongue along his teeth, glaring at the guy and then a thought rises, unbidden. He’s lovely, really, that man standing there. The more Kihyun stares the more it solidifies in his mind. Too big features on a too small face and those too long hair brushing his soft jaw and maybe it’s ivy, that climbs along his throat in dark ink, or maybe it’s something else; Kihyun was never good with plants.

“I’m Hyungwon,” the man says then in that soft voice of his, breaking the silence that had settled over the landing.

“I figured,” Kihyun says, because really there wasn’t many other options to choose from. It’s then that the timer switch goes out and darkness engulfs him, the only light coming from Minhyuk’s apartment, framing Hyungwon in a soft glow. Kihyun could lift an arm for the motion sensors to turn the lights back on but he feels as if he’s made of glass, as if the tiniest movement would make him shatter, joints slipping out of place, cogs falling all over the floor.

“Can I wait here until Minhyuk’s back?” Kihyun asks and Hyungwon sighs as if this required too much thinking to answer.

“I guess,” he ends up saying, peeling himself from the doorframe and he’s not graceful, not really; limbs too long and too thin and something stiff as if he was moving through water yet Kihyun stares as Hyungwon walks back into the apartment, the door open for him to follow. He does after taking a moment to remember himself, remember how to push one feet in front of the other and how to squint through the pounding behind his eyelids, how if he leans his weight on his left foot his ribs will hurt less.

Kihyun knows the inside of Minhyuk’s apartment as if it was his own and he discards his shoes at the entrance, following the hallway to the small bathroom tucked away between Minhyuk’s room and a closet space, hearing the front door close behind him with the sound of the automatic lock. Hyungwon is standing in the bathroom when Kihyun reaches it, rummaging into the small cabinet that holds the first aid supplies.

“What are you doing?” Kihyun asks as he gingerly deposits himself on the closed lid of the toilet, reaching an arm to open the sink’s faucet and run his hands underneath.

“Helping,” Hyungwon says as he turns, antiseptic and bandages in hand he sets on the counter, watching the clear water muddy with Kihyun’s grime and blood.

“Why?” Kihyun asks him, lifting his eyes from the sink to stare at Hyungwon staring at him.

“Cause my dad raised me well,” Hyungwon says as he kneels before Kihyun, reaching for his face yet Kihyun jolts back in reflex, splattering water and nearly knocking the back of his head against the tiled wall behind him.

“Sorry,” Hyungwon says, hand hovering in the empty air between them. “Can I touch you?” he asks gently, appraising, dark eyes steady on Kihyun’s face.

Kihyun swallows, the beat of his heart almost painful against his ribs. And then he nods, Hyungwon’s hand reaching for him once again, slowly this time, deliberately so, as if making time for him to escape should he wish to. But Kihyun remains still, closing his eyes when the cotton dab reaches his lips. The antiseptic stings a little but it isn’t any worse than what he did to himself and he doesn’t wince, doesn’t make a sound. From the darkness behind his eyes Kihyun feels the cotton against his lips, hears Hyungwon turn the water off before he sets to dry Kihyun’s hands with a soft towel and softer touches, applying cream to the tiny cuts and Kihyun flinches this time, the ache much worse than it had been on his face; a myriad of paper cuts he knows will take too long to heal, reopening each time he flexes his hands.

Hyungwon lets out a soft breath and the sound has Kihyun open his eyes, looking down at him knelt there between his thighs, holding Kihyun’s hands in his own. And they are so much bigger, fingers long and spindly, skin soft; artist’s hands, hands for music and drawing and soft touches in grey shadows. Handsso different from Kihyun’s own, split skin and swollen knuckles and callouses that won’t leave. There’s a lump in his throat, something Kihyun swallows back as Hyungwon looks up at him, shaking his hair out of his eyes.

“You okay?” he asks and Kihyun forces a careful smile, wishing his light-headedness would subside, wishing the ache between his ribs was due entirely to too harsh kicks.

“Yeah,” he says, “this isn’t the worst state I’ve been in.”

He had tried for light-heartedness but the stare Hyungwon gives him is too long, too heavy for comfort. Hyungwon bites at his plush lower lip, looking down at Kihyun’s hands held within his own yet he makes no move to keep cleaning them.

“Why did you end up like this?” he asks and Kihyun sighs, letting his head rest gently against the wall behind him, the cool of the tiles dulling the worst of his headache.

“Some guys were bothering some kid at a bar and I was looking for a fight,” he says plainly. It’s not that deep, really, there’s nothing more to it, nothing worth saying. Hyungwon hums, tilting his head as he applies a band-aid on a larger cut at the turn of Kihyun’s wrist. Kihyun looks down at it and almost laugh; it looks so quaint, sitting there on his bruised skin, as if it could prevent everything from spilling, everything from falling apart.

“That doesn’t really tell me anything,” Hyungwon says, sitting back on his haunches and Kihyun stares at him, searching for something he doesn’t find. So he asks something else instead, something he can hide behind.

“Why does Minhyuk hate you so much?”

And it startles a laugh out of Hyungwon, something bright that has his cheeks bunch up and his eyes disappear into crescents. Kihyun stares.

“I don’t know,” Hyungwon says, still smiling. “I don’t think he has any real reason besides that my dad’s boning his mum and he doesn’t like it. Having us room together to save on rent didn’t thrill him that much, either.”

Kihyun wonders if it’s sadness in Hyungwon’s gaze then, or something else, something like resignation, like longing for something craved yet never earned.

“Or maybe he’s just jealous of how hot I am,” Hyungwon adds then and the look is gone, buried under a blinding smile. Kihyun freezes up at him, twisting his mouth in a half smile.

“You look like an elongated frog, though,” he says slowly with all the seriousness he can muster and Hyungwon splutters in mock offence, punching him lightly on the shoulder. Kihyun pretends that it hurts just to make him panic, Hyungwon’s big hands fleeting over him without touching as he stammers apologies and Kihyun laughs then, looking up at him as Hyungwon leans over to assert he’s okay.

“You suck,” Hyungwon says once he realizes Kihyun is mocking him and he’s too close, way too close. Kihyun doesn’t move, though, doesn’t feel the need to flee. He just stares, his smile slowly dropping from his face as a shift occurs, Hyungwon adjusting his stance but not the space between them and he’s serious again, tracing with a long finger the edge of the bruise on Kihyun’s cheekbone, a barely felt caress.

“You didn’t really answer,” he says then, voice low, almost a whisper. “Why were you looking for a fight?”

Kihyun shivers, his gaze dropping from Hyungwon’s too intense one. He wants to lie, at first, wants to find an excuse, a way out. But any lie he can come up with would be more pathetic than the truth and so he looks to Hyungwon again, lips parting on self-conscious words.

“Don’t you feel too tight, sometimes?” he asks, Hyungwon’s gaze too heavy on his bruised skin. “Don’t you feel like you’re gonna burst, like something must happen? And so you go looking for something. Something you can change. Something you can ruin. And sometimes, that thing is yourself.”

Hyungwon sucks in a breath, his pretty lips parting, his gaze dropping to Kihyun’s swollen cheekbone, to his cut mouth. The air is charged, heavy with something sticky, something warm, something that feels like the blood Kihyun can still taste at the back of his throat. And Kihyun is sure of something, then, something strange. Should he want to he could touch Hyungwon now, and Hyungwon would let him. He’d let him run his wrecked hands over the perfect skin of his face, the slender lines of his throat; he would let him trace the leaves inked there and dip lower, following the shapes of his clavicles to the shadows dwelling there. But Kihyun remains still, breath sealed in his lungs, hands aching in his lap. Hyungwon blinks, and the moment is gone.

“I usually find other releases,” he says, straightening his stance, stepping away from Kihyun.

“Is that what this is about, then?” Kihyun says, gesturing to Hyungwon’s entire being yet Hyungwon knows what he must mean; the leaves on his throat, the ink that peeks at the collar of his shirt and the cuffs of his sleeves.

Hyungwon tilts his head, thoughtful, a small smile gracing his full lips.

“Part of it, maybe,” he says, “the rest is just…” he shrugs, helpless to put words on what it is, really, that pushes him to put needles to his skin over and over again. “And, like, it’s my job,” he continues, Kihyun’s eyes widening, “and I just like it.”

“You’re a tattoo artist?” Kihyun says, too much wonder in his voice and Hyungwon laughs again, bright and airy. Kihyun shouldn’t like it this much, a bloom unfurling between his ribs mirroring the petals at the base of Hyungwon’s throat.

“Minhyuk didn’t tell you?” Hyungwon says, not really surprised.

“He wouldn’t tell me anything that will make you seem cool,” Kihyun says evenly, Hyungwon laughing again.

“He’s kind of petty, isn’t he.”

“You got no idea. I’m loyal, though. So I hate you in solidarity with him.”

“Really?” Hyungwon asks, an eyebrow raised, and Kihyun sighs; his headache is getting worse now and he feels his exhaustion weighting him down, something deeper than the ache in his muscles, deeper than the weariness straining his features; it’s under his skin, chasing the marrow of his bones, flaying his body open.

“Not really,” he drawls, “but don’t you tell him.”

“Why do you always come here?” Hyungwon asks as he’s gathering the first-aid supplies to put them back in the cabinet. His voice reaches Kihyun muffled through cotton wool and Kihyun forces his bleary eyes to focus on him yet Hyungwon remains blurred at the edges, softened into nothing.

“I don’t know,” Kihyun says. “He lets me sleep. He doesn’t ask questions. He feels safe.”

Hyungwon hums under his breath and Kihyun doesn’t realize he’s drifting until he’s hauled to his feet by a cool hand around his sore arm. He follows Hyungwon listlessly, pulled behind him like a child towards Minhyuk’s bedroom. Hyungwon gingerly opens the door, walking in as if he wasn’t supposed to be there and he probably isn’t, Kihyun thinks distantly, Minhyuk has probably forbidden him to tread in his space. And yet he is here, pushing Kihyun gently down onto the bed, pulling the covers on top of him. And Kihyun lets go for once, lets himself drift, tries to forget about his voice screamed raw and his bloody lips and the dull ache in his hands balled into too tight fists. He’s asleep before Hyungwon has time to leave the room.

  
  


**2.**

Kihyun wakes to a stifling warmth pressed against his back. He groans, shifts and groans anew when the soreness in his limbs wakes with him. It takes him too much efforts to just flop onto his back and there’s no mistaking the mop of silvery hair peeking from below the covers. Minhyuk has draped himself around him as he’s wont to do, legs tangled and an arm thrown around his waist, uncaring of Kihyun’s sensitive ribs, of the bruises hidden under his shirt.

Kihyun peeks at the clock on Minhyuk’s bedside table, decides it’s too early to wake him and lays there on his back, staring at the white ceiling, listening to Minhyuk’s peaceful breathing fanning against his skin. He needs to go to the bathroom and he’s thirsty to a painful extent but he’s also too lazy, too comfortable to move. Minhyuk’s warmth weights him down almost as much as his actual body does and so Kihyun remains still, cataloguing each throbbing ache, each little hurt his flayed nerves supply him with. He lifts his hands, inspecting each of the tiny cut, how they have scabbed over, scabs that will pull and tear as soon as he flexes his fingers. The band-aid Hyungwon had put on his wrist is still there and Kihyun stares, remembering him – the absent softness of his gaze, the gentle lines of his face and the way his big hands had felt upon him, soft and kind and entirely too pleasing. He’d been right, Kihyun thinks then; they’d been artist’s hands.

“g’morning,” Minhyuk’s voice sounds next to Kihyun’s ear, still full of sleep. Minhyuk flails until he manages to turn onto his back, stretching like a starfish, letting his arm fall back on Kihyun’s stomach.

“When did you get here?” Kihyun asks, more to hear Minhyuk’s voice than out of real interest.

“A bit after midnight? You should have called me.”

“My phone’s busted,” Kihyun answers; it had been in his back pocket when he’d fallen, and it had shattered under his weight.

“Great,” Minhyuk grumbles and Kihyun finally looks at him. Minhyuk always seems too soft, pretty eyes and pretty mouth and nothing hard in the smooth expanse of his face when Kihyun was sharp-edged enough to cut. His mind, though, his mind could separate flesh from bones should he ever want to, his tongue quick-witted and his gaze too knowing. But there was none of that now, sleep dulling his hidden blades, chasing the latent tension in his limbs until he was left open and pliant, laying there against Kihyun, silver hair resting upon his brow like a crown.

“You need a new hobby,” he drawls, craning his neck to stare up at Kihyun’s face. “You look like you made out with a lawnmower.”

“Thanks,” Kihyun says, “does it look hot?”

“No,” Minhyuk says simply, turning on his side to burrow back under the covers. A soft silence settles, Minhyuk’s breathing growing heavier until Kihyun is pretty sure he’s about to fall back asleep. But Kihyun can’t let him; there’s a path his thoughts strain towards he doesn’t want to tread, and someone sitting like a stone in his belly, someone he needs to take out of himself.

“Hyungwon was there,” he blurts, breaking the silence and dragging Minhyuk’s attention back to himself. Minhyuk stares from above the covers, hair rumpled, brows furrowed.

“And what?” he asks dryly, “you guys hung out, watched a movie, braided each other’s hair?”

“No,” Kihyun replies, “we made steamy love on your bed, though. He came twice.”

Minhyuk hits him in the shoulder, Kihyun groaning even though it doesn’t really hurt.

“Don’t hit me,” he says anyway, “I’m already suffering.”

“And whose fault is that,” Minhyuk mumbles, settling back against the mattress, eyes dark and lips pursed. Kihyun starts playing with his hair, the strands dry from too many approximate dye-jobs.

“You’ll end up bald,” Kihyun says absently, twisting a lock around his finger.

“It’s alright,” Minhyuk yawns, “I’m pretty enough to pull it off.”

Kihyun laughs, hands leaving Minhyuk’s abused scalp to burrow back under the covers where it’s warm and he finds something else there, too, a faint memory of a gentle brush over his fingers, of a quiet voice asking for permission to touch.

“Hyungwon was nice,” he ventures, tentative. “He helped clean me up.”

“Well,” Minhyuk says petulantly from his nest of blankets, “you’re free to go to his room and make-out.”

Kihyun rolls his eyes, kicking Minhyuk under the covers.

“It’s just, from how you speak about him I expected a huge asshole, but he wasn’t,” Kihyun says, looking down at Minhyuk who remains quiet. There’s something faraway in his gaze, something almost sad and Kihyun feels on the verge of an understanding, of a discovery, if only he could stare for longer, if only Minhyuk would remain as he is now, open and vulnerable. But Minhyuk shifts and the look is gone, dissolving in the smile he offers, one Kihyun knows well, one that hides too much.

“Do you want breakfast?” Minhyuk asks and Kihyun nods even if he feels like prodding. Because this isn’t what they do, everything always taken at face-value, no questions asked; there would be too many things to face, then, too many things to unveil for which there are no words. So Kihyun follows Minhyuk out of the bed, limbs stiff and aching, follows him down the corridor to the kitchen where they busy themselves beating eggs into omelettes and brewing coffee. The apartment is quiet, as it always is when Kihyun wakes there and for the first time he wonders where Hyungwon has gone. He doesn’t ask, though, and as time passes the memory of Hyungwon’s eerie presence fades, dissolving in the daylight like dreams do, leaving only an imprint, a faint trace of what he had been. And so Kihyun sits on one of Minhyuk’s rickety chair, staring at him over the rim of his coffee mug as Minhyuk recounts some inconsequential anecdote from the night before.

It’s a well-oiled routine, one they have been through countless of time and the familiarity of it ignites a warm flame deep within Kihyun’s chest, one that almost thaws the unrest he’d been left with after last night, one he tries to let grow as Minhyuk speaks, and laughs, and piles yet more food onto Kihyun’s plate as if it’s the only thing left he can do for him.

“I gotta go to class soon,” Minhyuk says, stretching, when they’re done eating. “Do you wanna shower here?”

“Nah,” Kihyun says, shaking his head. “I’ll just freshen up and go home. My clothes are rank anyway.”

Minhyuk wrinkles his nose, probably remembering Kihyun slept in those same clothes on his clean sheets and waves him off as Kihyun starts gathering the dirty plates.

“Go now, I’ll take care of that.”

Kihyun nods his thanks, walking down the corridor towards the bathroom with slow steps. He stops in front of the closed door of Hyungwon’s room, fingers itching to try the doorknob; he wants to see what’s it like inside, if it will look like Hyungwon felt, soft and dark and ravaged. And then Kihyun feels like an invading creep and hurries to the bathroom, opening the faucet to splash cold water on his face. It’s only then that he looks up at his reflection in the mirror to survey the damage. It’s not as bad as it felt, really, his cheekbone a mottled purple, his bottom lip cut and slightly swollen but Hyungwon had done a good job at cleaning the worst of the scrapes. It’s not so bad, really, if he brushes his bangs down to hide his black eye.

He leaves only when Minhyuk shoos him out to commandeer the bathroom, going back to the front door without sparing a glance at Hyungwon’s bedroom. It hurts when he bends to put his shoes on, his bruised ribs aching with each breath, each tiny movement that he makes and he needs to stop falling, it’s always worst once they get you to the floor, once you give them an opening for kicking. It was that goddamn bottle, he had slipped on the spilled alcohol, hit the floor, bracing himself with his hands in broken glass.

There’s something in his shoe, Kihyun realizes then, and he withdraws his feet to retrieve a small rectangle of white paper. There’s a simple, black X embossed on the front, the words _tattoo parlor_ printed in cursive underneath with an address and phone number. Kihyun turns it over in his hands, and stares.

The handwriting is neat, if a little childish. The letters have run where the paper has been shoved against the sole of his shoe but they remain legible, and a peculiar feeling unfurls in Kihyun’s chest as he stares at the black ink. It feels like he’s staring at a secret, like he isn’t supposed to know what Hyungwon’s handwriting is like, just as he isn’t supposed to know how he sounds at night, voice tired and too low, or how his hands feel when they’re touching to heal. It feels entirely too intimate, a proof of his existence, of his selfhood, something that is uniquely him just like the shape of his eyes or the curve of his bones. So Kihyun stands with the card in his hands and stares at the words, chest aching from cruel hands and unknown feelings.

 _Come here next time you’re looking for something to ruin_.

  
  


**3.**

It’s 10:37p.m when Kihyun finds himself in the corner store near his building, hands in his hoodie’s pockets, hair still wet from the shower he took because it felt like the only thing that could douse the fire coursing on his skin. It didn’t, though, he’s still as annoyed as he was, as restless, glaring at the first-aid supplies on the shelf in front of him. The band-aid on his wrist had fallen in the shower, the skin underneath tender and rosy, scabs softened by the warm water. It didn’t need a band-aid anymore. Kihyun buys the same brand Hyungwon had had and goes back up to his room to apply it anyway.

He can hear his neighbour through the flimsy walls, talking on the phone in a foreign tongue. On the other side there’s the clacking of keyboard keys, orders barked into a mic as the student next door leads a raid in some video game. Kihyun listens to these familiar noises, the same each nights for countless nights spent awake in his bed, wondering about those other people who won’t sleep, keeping him company unknowingly, furnishing his loneliness with fragments of their own scattered lives. He wonders what it’s like to be them, what reason could they have to throw tomorrow out the window just like he is, staring absently at his square of ceiling, one room big enough for a bed and a desk and not much else.

Kihyun lifts an arm, staring at the useless band-aid on his wrist and he remembers the way Hyungwon had looked, almost too focused, dark hair falling into his eyes as he’d put the first one there, head tilted, hands too gentle for Kihyun’s bruised skin, for his bruised mind. And it’s strange to think so much of someone you met but once, no matter how kind, no matter how alluring they’d been. Kihyun tilts his head, looking at his wallet on his desk and he can feel the magnetic pull of what rests inside; a rectangle of paper with a name that means nothing and an address, scribbled words he still remembers as if he had put them there himself. He won’t go, he knows, there is no reason for him to.

Yet he wonders why Hyungwon did it, wonders what he had looked like, scribbling in the hallway, shoving the card in Kihyun’s shoe on his way out, somewhere he was sure Kihyun would find. What he had seen in Kihyun that had warranted this. Kihyun heaves a frustrated groan, running his hands through his hair and he can’t stay here, he can’t, the walls are closing in on him, his skin too tight, the voices and sounds from his neighbours no longer companionable, assaulting his ears and it’s all he can focus on, the clack clack of the keys and these words uttered in a tongue he cannot understand. Kihyun heaves himself off the bed, stuffs his wallet in his back pocket, slides his shoes on and locks the flimsy door behind him. He can still hear his neighbour on the phone, can still hear the student, noises spilling in the hallway, mixing in with someone listening to the radio and the sounds of water from the common bathroom.

Kihyun wishes for somewhere soundless. Somewhere dark, somewhere grey. Somewhere to lay his head and close his eyes, somewhere where there would be no one, nothing but him and the sound of his breath and the feel of his heart. As it is there is nowhere to go and Kihyun wanders down the darkened streets, an unrest he knows well pushing thorns under his skin. _Come here next time you’re looking for something to ruin_. The card in his wallet weighs it down, Kihyun’s fingers itching to touch it and he’d checked the address, he’d mapped out the way in his head yet Kihyun takes another turn on purpose, down familiar streets with familiar lights and familiar noises, neons flashing red and green and blue on his cold skin. He watches as his breath clouds in the air, bows with an absent smile when someone bumps into him and apologizes. He lets his feet carry him down the streets and his head is empty, and his heart is pumping molten fire in his veins, and there’s an itch he can’t scratch and a disquiet he cannot name.

He knows what he’s looking for when he finds it. A small bar tucked away in a corner, old and run down, not trendy enough for the young crowd and too scary for tourists. He slips inside, plants himself at the counter and surveys his surroundings while the barman finishes with another client. It’s quiet, rock music on the speakers not loud enough to inhabit the space and small groups huddled together at square tables. No one pays attention to him, not yet at least, and Kihyun enjoys the anonymity while he has it. He orders a canned beer and a soju bottle once the barman rounds on him, a guy too young, too put together for the establishment and maybe Kihyun would ask if it was any other day. As it is he just mixes his somaek, downing the drink too quickly for his empty stomach. It always starts in the legs, for him. A pleasant numbness that tells him he’s nearing tipsy way before it registers in his brain. So Kihyun empties the can in his glass, adds a shot of soju and asks for a new beer that appears on the counter almost as soon as the words leave his lips.

The barman’s gaze lingers on the faded bruise on Kihyun’s cheekbone, drops to the almost healed cut on his lips and Kihyun knows what he’s wondering, if this spells trouble, if he should watch out for the man slumped at the counter. Kihyun smiles at him, a smiles that says yes, sharp teeth and full lips and the guy blinks at him, stepping away, glancing at the front door as if he could will Kihyun to leave. Kihyun doesn’t leave. Not until he gets what he came for, not until someone’s too loud voice spelling stupid words gives him an excuse to get nasty, to sharpen his smile and tighten his fists and yell an insult that gets him a punch. He always lets them hit first – as if he needed a justification for the deluge of violence he’s burning to let loose, as if he hadn’t been looking for it, as if this wasn’t his fault.

The guy is so much taller than him this time, so much heavier, and he’s left-handed; Kihyun hadn’t expected this and somehow it feels like it hurts more when the guy’s fist collides with the unmarred side of his face, sending him reeling. His confusion doesn’t last, though, and Kihyun is quick to right himself, lashing at the man whose friend is trying to hold back; he’s punching him, aggressive jabs, a hook in the sternum and it feels good to have yielding flesh under his hands, it feels good, the ringing in his ears and the blood he can feel trickling down his nose, the dull pain he knows will solidify to a burning throb in a few minutes. The guy swears, pushing off his friend, righting his stance like a boxer and that’s the part Kihyun likes best, when they don’t care anymore, when he’s the only thing that matters, him and their need to ruin.

But this time, the hit never comes. Solid arms circle Kihyun’s torso and he’s lifted off the ground, back pressed in a sturdy chest.

“Stop that,” a quiet voice says in his ear, “that’s enough.”

Kihyun is too stunned to protest, dragged backward towards the front door which opens under a kick from the guy who holds him. He’s deposited in the street like an unruly cat, the guy smoothing down his hoodie and smiling down at him. He’s not that much taller but he’s huge, muscles rippling under his shirt yet it’s his smile that disturbs Kihyun the most, something too nice, too gentle for someone looking like he does. Too intimidating, too conspicuous in that run-down street.

“Now behave,” he tells Kihyun as if he’s admonishing a child or a pet, “and you should get something for your nose. There’s a convenience store down the street.”

Kihyun stares silently, feeling distinctly as if he should thank him, as if this is what’s expected of him. Instead he wipes his nose on his sleeve, eyes on the carmine streak it leaves on the grey cloth when he finally answers.

“I’m fine,” he says, “it’s okay.”

“Doesn’t look it,” the guy replies with a wince and Kihyun stares blankly back until the guy squirms, smoothing down his own shirt, sticking his hands in his pants’ pockets.

“I’ll go back to work, then,” he says eventually, “but, like, take care,” he adds, a little awkward, stopping short of patting Kihyun on the shoulder. He turns on his heels, sparing one last glance before disappearing back inside the bar.

Left alone on the sidewalk Kihyun stares after him, unusually rattled. He blinks when a light drizzle starts to fall, looks down at his hands, the knuckles reddened, an old scab cracked and bleeding slightly. There’s a dull pain in his nose that’s easy to ignore now that it has stopped bleeding, and his head is inordinately clear despite the alcohol he ingested. He’s been stopped in his tracks and the whiplash is leaving him reeling, suspended in time as if the man had interrupted more than a simple fight. And yet Kihyun cannot displace the remnants of his anger on him. His eyes had been kind, his smile warm, his face knowing, annoyingly compassionate. So Kihyun scowls at his shoes instead, a restlessness he doesn’t know how to quell anymore rising white-hot under his skin. The rain is welcome, growing steadily stronger the longer he stands there, drenching his skin, his hair, running in rivulets along his face. It’s something to feel that isn’t this, this too-tight feeling under his skin, these choked breaths like sulphur in his chest.

He starts walking then, down steadily emptying streets, revellers looking for shelter, girls running past him laughing, holding their jackets above their heads, friends sharing too small umbrellas, tripping over one another. Kihyun walks and Kihyun doesn’t know where he’s going until he gets there.

The shop is strikingly unassuming. The same X embossed on the white card in Kihyun’s wallet is hanging above a door wedged between two big windows through which the inside of the shop cannot be seen. Black drapes hang against the glass, prints Kihyun is too far to see properly pinned on them. Kihyun would laughs at the edginess of it all if he wasn’t too busy shivering, his drenched hoodie sticking to his skin. He remains there, standing in shadows on the opposite side of the street, staring at a door he knows won’t open because the shop is closed, of course it is, it’s much too late. _Come here next time you’re looking for something to ruin._ And Kihyun came, but he’s not sure what it is he’s looking for anymore.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there. The rain is a proper downpour now, droplets hanging from his eyelashes and blurring his vision, hair plastered to his scalp, hoodie weighted down. A car slowly rolls down the street, Kihyun stepping back on reflex and he must leave, he must, there are no reasons for him to be there. The car passes, and when Kihyun lifts his gaze towards the shop one last time, someone is standing there, face obscured by a huge umbrella. Kihyun freezes, the man lifting his umbrella just enough for Kihyun to see his face. It’s Hyungwon, of course it is, and Kihyun can feel his heart miss a beat. They gaze at each other long enough for another car to pass, Hyungwon staring at its tail-lights until it disappears down the street before finally crossing to Kihyun. Somehow he seems taller than Kihyun remembers, dark hair slicked back, darker eyes searching Kihyun’s face for something unknown as he gathers him in the small space delimited by his umbrella.

“You’re drenched,” he says, and Kihyun feels like laughing.

“I noticed,” he replies, looking up at Hyungwon.

Hyungwon’s staring, detailing his face, and Kihyun submits to the scrutiny, chin upturned, eyelids heavy. There’s a flutter in his chest, something tentative, something warm that could grow were he to let it.

“You bled again,” Hyungwon adds and Kihyun only stares back, watching him as Hyungwon tilts his head, bites his bottom lip as if debating something with himself.

“Come on,” Hyungwon says eventually, turning to walk back towards the shop, leaving Kihyun behind in the rain.

The door is open when Kihyun catches up to him, Hyungwon closing his umbrella as he steps inside, chucking off his shoes and hooking the umbrella on the coat rack.

“Wait here.”

He walks towards the back of the shop and Kihyun remains there, dripping on the threshold, the door closing behind him. He finds himself in a small room, furnished with a counter and a couch behind a low table, walls covered in posters and drawings. Hyungwon has turned on the reading lamp on the counter as he left and the weak light seems to darken the shadows around the store, drawing strange beasts from each corners. Kihyun shivers, as much from the cold than from the unknown, from the small trepidation he feels at simply standing there, in a space decidedly not his own, with someone he barely knows yet feels a strange kindred with, something that tells him he is safe, he is understood.

Hyungwon comes back with a fluffy towel he drops on Kihyun’s head, another he drapes around his shoulders. He sighs, seemingly giving up on having him not track water and mud everywhere and tells him to follow, leading him to the couch as he turns on another light, one that diffuses a soft, warm glow, beating the shadows back.

“I can turn on the heater if you’re cold,” he says, walking towards a coffee machine behind the counter.

“It’s fine,” Kihyun says, dropping himself on the couch. “It’s okay.”

He towels his hair dry as Hyungwon prepares the coffee, hesitates only a second before he strips off his drenched hoodie, letting if fall to the floor as he drapes the bigger towel over his naked shoulders, reclining against the backrest. Hyungwon turns to him with a steaming cup in his hands, eyes widening slightly at Kihyun’s state, and then he just stares, unabashedly. His gaze falls from Kihyun’s face, following the lines of his throat down to his collarbones and Kihyun shifts, letting the towel drop slightly, exposing more of his skin; a half smile lifts the corner of Hyungwon’s mouth as he steps closer, leaving the cup on the table. He stares down at Kihyun seated there on his couch, thighs parted, dark eyes steady. Hyungwon licks his lips, gaze travelling down, roaming over Kihyun’s chest and his naked ribs, settling on the half-healed bruises there, the scratches near the bone of his hip.

“Does it hurt?” Hyungwon asks as he steps closer still and reaches a hand, searching Kihyun’s face for an assent before he allows himself to touch, running a cold finger down Kihyun’s side, following the contours of the bruises.

Kihyun shakes his head, warmth pooling in his abdomen as Hyungwon’s fingers travel over his skin, nudging lightly, waking the dull ache nestled there.

“You don’t keep the memory of pain, do you?” Hyungwon asks, his voice low, almost a whisper as his gaze remains steady on Kihyun’s bare skin. “No one does. You just know that it hurt, and maybe the way that it did, the words you put on it at the time. But the pain itself you can’t remember.”

His gaze finds Kihyun’s then, something almost unbearably vulnerable there, something that tugs at Kihyun’s heart, hurt almost as much as the sting of a thrown fist.

“Is that why you go looking for it? To remember?”

Hyungwon’s fingers have stilled on Kihyun’s hip, his palm espousing the shape of his bones, smooth and cold against his burning skin. Kihyun has no answer to give him, nothing but the beating of his heart and the breath stuck in his lungs.

“What are you so scared of?” Hyungwon asks and he’s leaning in Kihyun’s space now, too close, much too close.

“You should ask less questions,” Kihyun answers and he yanks on Hyungwon’s collar, Hyungwon tumbling into him, bracing himself against the couch as he gasps.

“Go ahead,” Kihyun says when Hyungwon’s eyes fall on him, hungry and dark. “You want it, right?”

Hyungwon blinks, slowly, a starved smile quirking his mouth as he leans in, pressing his lips against Kihyun’s and it’s nothing, really, barely a touch, barely a kiss yet Kihyun feels silver in his chest, molten, white-hot and heavy anchoring him there, trapped between Hyungwon and the couch; his hands find Hyungwon’s shirt and he pulls, leaning back, dragging him atop himself as his lips part on a breath Hyungwon swallows, deepening the kiss, the tip of his tongue tracing Kihyun’s lips, teasing ever so slowly until Kihyun grunts, lunging forward, looking for more, more of everything, more of Hyungwon’s hands on him, more of Hyungwon’s taste on his lips and Hyungwon’s weight pressing him down.

And this need grows, coursing like fire over his skin until it feels life or death, all encompassing, almost numinous and Kihyun gasps, pressing more intently into Hyungwon, bucking his hips as Hyungwon straddles him, tongues at his mouth, wet and rich and lethal. Hyungwon tastes dark, like blood at the back of his throat, like bruises on his skin, like the throbbing behind his eyelids and Kihyun feels as if he was dissolving, carried in the ebb and flow of Hyungwon’s breath, the beats of his heart, the coldness of his fingers. Kihyun slides his hands underneath Hyungwon’s shirt, eliciting a groan and a shiver; Hyungwon’s skin is warm, so warm under his hands and Kihyun travels up his sides, tracing the savage curve of his bones, scratching lightly with blunt nails until he gets a moan, Hyungwon leaning back to strip off his shirt.

Kihyun stares, then. Hyungwon lets him, chest heaving as he looks down from his place on Kihyun’s lap. Kihyun lifts a finger, tracing a line of dark ink down Hyungwon’s chest and Hyungwon hums, something almost like a purr when Kihyun splays his fingers against his skin, pressing lightly into the flesh. Hyungwon yields, closing his eyes as Kihyun resumes his fleeting caresses, following the swirls of ink, the shapes engraved therein. Hyungwon is beautiful, overwhelmingly so; Kihyun is left worshipping at the soft planes of his body, running greedy hands down his sides, hands he soon replaces with his famished lips, placing soft kisses, licking a wet path up Hyungwon’s chest; he laps at a hard nipple, a choked moan escaping Hyungwon as he buries his hands in Kihyun’s hair, bringing him closer still, tugging at tangled, wet strands.

Kihyun feels dangerous then, almost wicked. He buckles his hips, lightly scratching his teeth against Hyungwon’s chest just to hear what kind of sound he’ll make – a mewling, almost, something choked and starved as Hyungwon grinds down on him and Kihyun smiles, Hyungwon tugging on his hair to have him lean back. Hyungwon looks ravaged already, lips spit-slick and shiny, pupils blown and he grinds down against Kihyun, again and again, bending down to kiss him, something greedy, ravenous; Kihyun strains against him, heat pooling in his abdomen and it’s when Hyungwon’s hands rest against his belt that he realizes how hard he actually is, his cock straining against his underwear. He moans when Hyungwon pulls his zipper down, his palm like fire against his crotch and Kihyun raises his hips, searching for more friction as he tugs on Hyungwon’s belt, Hyungwon rising, thighs straining, for Kihyun to pull his pants down.

“Fuck,” Kihyun says as he stares at Hyungwon’s cock curving towards his abdomen. “I really want to blow you.”

“No one’s stopping you,” Hyungwon breathes then and Kihyun laughs, sneaking his arms around Hyungwon’s waist, flipping them without warning, Hyungwon landing on the couch with a yelp.

Hyungwon rights himself then, spreading his thighs as Kihyun kneels on the floor before him. Kihyun glances up at Hyungwon who’s looking down to him with something almost reverent in his face, lips parted, hair in disarray. He looks already ruined yet so little has happened. Kihyun licks his lips, watching as Hyungwon’s gaze follows the gesture, his cock twitching, hands gripping his own thighs. Kihyun is almost too conscious of the moment then, of Hyungwon under his hands, pliant and waiting, of the utter vulnerability they allowed to be; nothing could unmake this, not even death – this moment will always have happened. Kihyun’s hands tracing the shape of Hyungwon’s body, following the savage lines inked in his skin; Hyungwon’s gaze on Kihyun, the gasps drawn from his chest, his parted lips, his ravaged grace.

Kihyun is almost hesitant to move – there is something to lose here, something fragile, something numinous, something sacred contained in a flicker of tossed light, in a small breath from constricted lungs. But Hyungwon is too beautiful, too tempting not to explore. Kihyun lifts a hand, splays his fingers over his abdomen, over the criss-crossing lines etched there, sharp, almost hostile, evoking the profile of a bird in flight, claws outstretch as if ready to tore flesh. Hyungwon lets out a shuddering breath as Kihyun lowers his hand, past his abdomen, lower still, circling deft fingers at the base of his cock. Kihyun leans in, tentative, stroking Hyungwon’s length slowly as he lets the tip of his tongue past his lips, giving quick, cat like licks to the head, teasing, Hyungwon burying a hand in his hair, tugging slightly.

Kihyun picks up pace, tonguing at the slit, earning a choked moan, something he wants to grow louder, something he wants to strain and he leans further, working his jaw, allowing more of Hyungwon inside his mouth, his tongue flat again the underside of Hyungwon’s cock. Kihyun hollows his cheeks, humming softly and Hyungwon’s hips splutter, his hand tightening in Kihyun’s hair almost painfully. Kihyun braces a hand on Hyungwon’s thigh, bobbing his head, Hyungwon hitting the back of his mouth once, twice, drawing tears from his eyes yet Kihyun keeps going, feeling Hyungwon strain underneath him, expletives falling from his lips amongst panting moans. Kihyun lets his hand fall from Hyungwon’s thigh into his own lap, down to his own neglected cock and he starts pumping himself to the same rhythm, feeling Hyungwon’s gaze on him. When Kihyun moans around his cock Hyungwon’s hips buck forward, Kihyun chocking, Hyungwon twitching.

And it’s this, the spams of his abdomen, the ravening look in Hyungwon’s eyes that have Kihyun lean back on his haunches, cock still in his hand, painfully hard and leaking, hair a mess from Hyungwon’s hands. And he stares at Hyungwon, parted lips slick with spit and precum, and he nods, once, an ascent he knows Hyungwon was waiting for before he takes him back into his mouth, relaxing his jaw, his throat as much as he can. Hyungwon raises his hips experimentally, once, twice before he swears, a gentle hand finding its way back to Kihyun’s hair as he fucks up into his mouth, breath seizing, his rhythm growing stuttered, erratic, ragged moans falling from his lips and he’s close, Kihyun can tell, eyes blurry with tears as he feels Hyungwon’s cock hit the back of his throat again and again, until the hand in his hair tightens, until Hyungwon tells him to get off but he doesn’t, his own cock painfully hard – Hyungwon cums then, in warm spurts down his throat Kihyun swallows, feeling Hyungwon’s cock pulsating in his mouth.

Kihyun leans back then, licking Hyungwon clean. Before he can move Hyungwon has lowered himself from the couch, kneeling in front of him, kissing him hungrily and his hand has chased Kihyun’s own; he’s jerking him in quick, slick moves and Kihyun whines in Hyungwon’s mouth, his hands gripping his shoulders, his back, hips bucking to chase the sensation.

“Cum for me,” Hyungwon whispers and Kihyun seizes at the words – he does what he’s told then, in white spurts over Hyungwon’s fingers, over his pretty hands, his artist’ hands Kihyun had thought about for so long.

Kihyun can feel Hyungwon smile against his lips, his hand cupping his face, the other still in his lap, caressing him through the aftermath, fingers warm and slick. Kihyun shudders, drained of strength, collapsing into Hyungwon’s chest who holds him there like something precious, like something worth it. A strange feeling of loss overcomes him then – the fire is doused and only ashes are left, his limbs inert, his mind blank and maybe this is it, the little death, the loss of something so transient as to leave no mark. And then he remembers, this will always have happened, no matter what comes next, and Hyungwon is kissing him again, softly atop his hair, stirring something warm in Kihyun’s chest, something too wistful, too yearning.

“You okay?” Hyungwon is asking as he shifts, grabbing the closest thing available to wipe his hand clean.

Kihyun stares, leaning away from Hyungwon’s chest, all anguished thoughts blown straight out of his head.

“Did you just wipe your hand on my hoodie?”

“Maybe,” Hyungwon answers, shrugging.

“Dude, the towel is right there,” Kihyun says, incredulity sipping into his voice.

Hyungwon stares, gaze shifting to the towel crumpled on the floor, a smile pulling at his lips.

“Sorry? It’s too wet to wear anyway. You’ll catch a cold.”

“So I’m supposed to just go home shirtless? Nipples flapping in the wind?”

Hyungwon considers him in silence, biting at his bottom lip, before poking Kihyun in the chest.

“I can just lend you a jacket to wear,” he says eventually, Kihyun scowling at him.

Hyungwon just smiles, tucking himself back into his pants as he rises to his feet, offering his hand to Kihyun.

“Come on,” he says, “let’s go.”

“Go where?” Kihyun asks, still sitting on the floor, staring at Hyungwon’s hand.

“Home?” Hyungwon says as if it was an evidence. “Minhyuk’s probably asleep so your friendship will be safe as long as you hide in my room.”

“You’re asking me to come with you,” Kihyun surmises, watching Hyungwon carefully, his opened hand, his lazy smile and the way his hair fall into his eyes. He’s still pretty, Kihyun thinks, still too pretty, fingers itching to reach out, reach out and touch.

“Yeah,” Hyungwon says, “you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Kihyun stares.

“Okay,” he says then, grabbing Hyungwon’s outstretched hand.

It feels selfish. Like a betrayal, like a secret. Kihyun follows Hyungwon through empty streets, huddled under his huge umbrella. Hyungwon hasn’t let go of his hand, tugging him this way and that as if he was afraid Kihyun would slip away, disappear in the rain and the night. They don’t talk, stopping only to let the occasional car pass before crossing. Kihyun stares at Hyungwon’s profile, the gentle lines of his face, the slope of his nose, his full lips. Everything is soft, in him. His hands and his body and his warm skin under Kihyun’s touch. Everything but the lines he has etched into his skin, climbing along his throat in curling vines Kihyun itches to trace and it shouldn’t be this tempting, really, it shouldn’t be this beautiful. And Hyungwon still walks as if treading through water, and Hyungwon still feels dark, and Hyungwon still feels safe and Kihyun follows, and this will always have happened, this will always have happened.

  
  


**4.**

Hyungwon opens the door slowly, poking his head inside the apartment and Kihyun knows what he’s making sure of – if Minhyuk is asleep, the place dark and silent. Kihyun feels guilty, he does, and he should leave, turn on his heels and go back to his own home, the little room wedged between too many strangers yet he doesn’t move, rooted in place until Hyungwon opens the door fully, gesturing him inside with a finger on his lips to intimate silence.

Kihyun chucks his shoes off, taking them with him down the corridor, socked feet silent against the wooden floor. He slows as he passes Minhyuk’s room and there’s this feeling again, this small betrayal, this secret he does not want to have yet Hyungwon has opened his bedroom door and is waiting for him, gaze soft, inviting. Kihyun stares and he remembers how he had wanted to know what it was like inside, if it would look like Hyungwon feels. He hurries then, as if Minhyuk door was due to open any minute, as if he needed to hide, as if this would all disappear in smoke where he to dally, like a dream.

Hyungwon closes the door behind him, turning on the lights and Hyungwon room is, well, just a room. A big bed with messy sheets and a desk in a corner, sketches pinned above it, clothes thrown haphazardly over the chair. A dresser and a bookshelf and that’s it, there is no revelation, no recognition. It just feels homey, and lived-in, and it smells sweet, a half-melted candle on the bedside table. Kihyun remains standing against the door, shoes in hand until Hyungwon takes them for him.

“Do you want to take a shower?” he asks, going through his clothes for something Kihyun could wear.

“Yeah,” Kihyun says in a breath; he needs to get out, suddenly. It strikes him how intimate this all feels, him standing there in Hyungwon’s space, watching him go through clothes he must have worn a hundred times in a place he made his own, a place that belongs to him, that is part of him.

“You can wear this,” Hyungwon says, holding out to Kihyun a grey shirt and a pair of sweatpants Kihyun snatches too quickly, turning on his heels to leave for the bathroom. It feels like he’s running away from something too soft, something too brittle he’s afraid to wreck with too greedy hands.

In the privacy of the bathroom Kihyun stares at his face in the mirror, at the bruise blooming on his cheekbone, at the mess of his hair, at the way his lips still look kissed-swollen, a tangible proof of what happened. He touches them with tentative fingers, remembering Hyungwon’s taste, his scent, the feel of his bare skin against his own. The memories are already fading and Kihyun knows he cannot retain them – just like pain there is no remembering pleasure; how Hyungwon’s hands had felt against his sides, the warmth of his breath against his skin, the press of his hands in his hair and his fingers around his cock. This will all disappear, devoured by time and Kihyun stares at his face, at his bare shoulders, Hyungwon’s borrowed jacket discarded on the floor, at the smooth expanse of his chest and his naked ribs. There is nothing, there, nothing at all. Kihyun drops his gaze from the mirror.

Hyungwon is sitting cross-legged on his bed when Kihyun comes back with his hair wet and smelling of shampoo. He’s riffling through a magazine in his underwear and a ratty shirt, long legs bare and Kihyun stares. A skull stares back at him from Hyungwon’s thigh, askew on a pile of books, a laurel crown atop its brow. A candle is burning, smoke tangling in volutes, all framed in an ornate medallion. Kihyun takes a step and another, new details taking shape from the intricate background the closer he gets. Playing cards, an hourglass, a sheet of music. Hyungwon looks up at him from his magazine, a curious smile on his lips.

“What is it?” he asks, and Kihyun’s gaze snaps to his face.

“Nothing, sorry,” he says sheepishly, watching as Hyungwon puts his magazine away and opens his arms in invitation.

Kihyun hesitates before climbing with him on the bed, Hyungwon threading a hand through his hair to disentangle the strands and Kihyun closes his eyes, chasing after the feeling.

“Did you even brush your hair out?”

“Yeah,” Kihyun lies. Hyungwon laughs and leaves a fleeting kiss on Kihyun’s lips, barely there, barely felt.

Kihyun opens his eyes and Hyungwon is smiling his lazy smile, dark eyes alight with a soft glint Kihyun doesn’t know what to make of. He lifts a hand then, slowly, tentatively, tracing the vines on Hyungwon’s throat as he had wanted to, stopping at the collar of his shirt and Hyungwon lets out a shaky breath, pulling him in, kissing him again, soft and yearning and the fluttering in Kihyun’s chest grows, solidifies in something almost sad, something that wants, something that needs.

Hyungwon lets him go, framing Kihyun’s face in his big hands.

“You okay?” he asks and Kihyun drops his gaze, staring at the hem of Hyungwon’s shirt.

“Yeah”, he says, and then, softly, “I don’t know.”

“Do you want to go home?” Hyungwon asks, head tilted and Kihyun glances at him. There’s nowhere else he would rather be, not now when Hyungwon looks like this, soft and vulnerable and open and how to remember, Kihyun wonders; how can he retain the way Hyungwon looks in the dead of night, how his too-long hair frame his cheeks, how his full lips look slightly parted, how it feels like to know that he could kiss him should he wish to.

“No,” Kihyun says instead, the sadness within him resolving itself in a hopeless want and he fists a hand in Hyungwon’s shirt, pulling him into a kiss; Hyungwon is pliant under his hands, languid and slow, soft nibbles and parted lips. Hyungwon leans back, pulling Kihyun with him until they are laying against the mattress, Kihyun tucked against his chest, still kissing him, still holding on.

“It’s okay,” Hyungwon whispers when they part and Kihyun sighs, burying his face in the crook of Hyungwon’s neck. He is tired, he is; he shouldn’t feel this fragile, as if the barest touch could break him, his skin paper-thin, as if Hyungwon’s hold on him was the only thing keeping him from spilling.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” he says against Hyungwon’s skin and he wasn’t expecting the laugh that follows his words, Hyungwon hooking a finger under his chin for Kihyun to look up at his face.

“It’s alright,” Hyungwon says, “this feels nice, though, yeah? You can just do that for a while.”

“What, make out with you?”

“Yeah,” Hyungwon shrugs, leaning in for another taste. And Kihyun lets him, lets his big hands course along his sides, let his tongue trace his lips, Hyungwon’s thigh nestled between his own as he grinds down. And for a while this is all he feels, and for a while all is fine, eyes closed, each thought surrendered, each gesture yielded.

Hyungwon is languid, almost lethargic, slow kisses peppered along Kihyun’s neck, sensuous nibbles at his collarbones where they peek from the stretched collar of his borrowed shirt. Kihyun sighs, and moans, and sighs anew against Hyungwon’s skin and he’s used to quick rushes of fleeting sensations but this is different, this is bone-deep, fires lit under his skin and maybe their ashes will stay, maybe if he holds Hyungwon tight enough an imprint will remain.

“You smell nice,” Hyungwon says as he kisses at a soft point below Kihyun’s ear.

“I smell like your body wash,” Kihyun scoffs, “are you getting off to your own damn self?”

“Fuck off,” Hyungwon laughs, “maybe I just like you smelling like me.”

“Don’t say shit like that,” Kihyun cringes, face crunching up and Hyungwon laughs, rolling on his back, knees bent, feet against the mattress.

Kihyun looks at the long lines of his body, his slender waist, slim fingers threaded between Kihyun’s own. From Hyungwon’s thigh the skull is again staring at him and Kihyun extends his free hand to touch it, trace its contours and the volutes of smoke that wafts around it.

“What does it mean?” he asks, voice soft and Hyungwon glances down, watching Kihyun’s fingers play on his skin.

“It’s a vanitas,” he says eventually.

“That tells me nothing,” Kihyun remarks and Hyungwon laughs, tugging on a strand of Kihyun’s hair.

“It’s a thing from European art. In the middle ages it was mainly funerary and then it became a popular motif for still-life paintings.”

Hyungwon peers at his own thigh, letting his head fall back against his pillow after a second.

“It’s supposed to symbolize the transience of life. How death is the only certainty, and everything else is only fleeting. Pleasure, riches, glory. Kinda like a memento mori.”

Kihyun remains quiet, staring at the tattoo, at the skull whose empty sockets stare back.

“Is that edgy enough for you?” Hyungwon asks then and Kihyun laughs, shaking his head, falling back against the sheets.

“It’s kinda grim to have that on your skin,” he says, a strange weigh in his belly as if the skull was still staring, as if words were spilling from its dead teeth, speaking of death and decay and all things fleeting, all things lost.

“I don’t think it’s that bad,” Hyungwon says, rolling on his belly to hook his chin on Kihyun’s shoulder. “You can just take it as a reminder to do what you want, since you’re gonna die in the end anyway. So in the meantime, might as well do what makes you happy. Nothing is that serious.”

“Isn’t that a bit nonchalant,” Kihyun says, closing his eyes, mapping the points of contact between him and Hyungwon. Hyungwon’s chin against his shoulder. Their clasped hands, their thighs pressed together.

“Yeah,” Hyungwon says, beaming, “it is. That’s why you’re here, though, isn’t it? Just because you wanted to.”

Kihyun hums non-committally and Hyungwon pinches his ribs with his free hand, leaving it there when Kihyun squirms. Another point, another source of warmth.

“I thought you’d like it.” Hyungwon continues. “You know, in your quality of edgelord supreme.”

Kihyun cracks an eye open, glaring at Hyungwon.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Hyungwon dismisses in a sigh, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Just, yeah. What you’re doing to yourself feels much worse than a vanitas on my thigh.”

“What am I doing to myself?” Kihyun asks, shifting on his side to stare at Hyungwon.

Hyungwon turns to him and they stare at each other, too close, much too close; Kihyun could count Hyungwon’s eyelashes, the moles on his face, one, two, three, the one on his lips he wishes to kiss but doesn’t. Hyungwon lifts a hand, searching Kihyun’s face for any trace of discomfort before he touches a finger to his skin, tracing the edge of the bruise on his cheekbone, down, down along his cheek to plush lips Kihyun parts on a sigh. Hyungwon traces their shape, slow and deliberate, Kihyun tongue darting between his fingers and Hyungwon smiles, something soft and knowing.

“You like me, don’t you?” Hyungwon says then, voice low, a whisper Kihyun could pretend not to hear should he wish to. “You don’t know why but you do.”

Kihyun’s gaze flies to Hyungwon’s face, eyes wide and afraid and he feels bare, glass skin and crystal heart.

“I barely know you,” he says, a bid at saving himself but Hyungwon shrugs, taking his fingers back, leaning in to replace them with his lips and he’s warm, so warm, Kihyun can do nothing but sigh against his skin, surrendering everything, his skin and his taste and the beats of his heart.

“It doesn’t really matter,” Hyungwon whispers against his lips, “sometimes you just know.”

Kihyun doesn’t want to think about what Hyungwon really means. He doesn’t want to think about the desperate way his fingers cling to him, how easily his body yields, how Hyungwon’s weight grounded into him settles the fire in his guts, soothes the tightness of his skin; he doesn’t want to think about how he wants to be buried there, smothered in the soft sheets, quieted, finally calm and tranquil, a little bit dead, a little bit gone. And maybe Hyungwon knows; he must, when he pins him there against the mattress, nibbling at the soft juncture of Kihyun’s neck, there where his pulse wildly beats. He must know when he nudges a knee between Kihyun’s thighs and presses up, swallowing abandoned moans with hungry lips as Kihyun grinds against him and Kihyun closes his eyes and Kihyun forgets what brought him here, the tightness and the anguish and how flayed and bleeding he always is.

This could become a habit, part of him thinks; something else to seek in the night, something else to solder together the broken shards of his being before they slip out of place, before they shatter against the anger and the grief and the anguish. Kihyun doesn’t want to think about that either, though. He only wants Hyungwon’s hands on him and the whispered praises in his ears and the warm breath fanning over his skin and Kihyun arches off the bed, fucking up into Hyungwon’s hand around his cock, coaxing and teasing and soft, so soft, Kihyun whines, something mewling against Hyungwon’s lips; Hyungwon who kisses him, again and again, who dips to nibble at his earlobe, teasing with sharp teeth and Kihyun cums on a word, sticky over Hyungwon’s fingers, Hyungwon who smiles, swallowing his little gasps with kisses and it’s silent then, quieted, calm and tranquil, calm and tranquil.

**5.**

Hyungwon does become a habit. More often than not Kihyun finds himself drawn to the shop with an X above the door, waiting in the shadows on the opposite side of the street. He waits for Hyungwon to spot him, watches him take a few steps outside the door, squinting into the dark for Kihyun’s shape. Kihyun wonders if he always checks, if he’s disappointed when Kihyun isn’t there. He doesn’t ask, though. They don’t talk much, not after that first day. Maybe they don’t need to, not when Kihyun is panting in Hyungwon’s lap, fucking up in Hyungwon’s tight fist holding both of their cocks.

Hyungwon swallows each of his moans, quickening his gestures, thumb teasing at Kihyun’s slit, smearing precum over the sensitive skin and he smiles at Kihyun’s needy whines, peppering kisses over his swollen lips, dipping his head to nibble at his earlobe and Kihyun feels his abdomen tightens; he’s close, so close thus pressed against Hyungwon, the friction somehow too much and not enough and he drops his forehead against Hyungwon’s shoulder, panting against his skin, his taste dark on his lips, his smell all-encompassing and he’s all that there is, all that there is to feel; his hands and his breath and his voice and his scent.

Hyungwon flicks his wrist, tightens his hand, the other finding its way to Kihyun’s hair, tugging slightly and Kihyun sighs, rocking his hips, burrowing further into Hyungwon, digging his fingertips into his flesh and it’s there, that white-hot bliss – he cums shuddering against Hyungwon’s abdomen, Hyungwon who releases a ragged breath as he watches, a choked sort of moan Kihyun swallows with a kiss and Hyungwon seizes, hand too tight in Kihyun’s hair; he follows, white splutters over his tan skin and Kihyun curls against him, chasing after his own breath.

There’s new kinds of bruises, too. Kihyun stands in front of the mirror fixed at the back of his door, the one that only shows down to his chest. There’s faded marks at the slope of his shoulders, at the juncture of his neck. And he remembers Hyungwon’s lips on him, how he had looked, how he had felt. He remembers as long as the bruises are there and when they’re gone it’s easy, he just has to go stand in the shadows of a darkened street to collect more imprints; scratches on his hips, bruises sucked into his collarbones, a soreness in his thighs. Hyungwon stays. Kihyun carries him upon his skin for as long as he can, asking for more each time, more bruises and more scratches and more things he can look at in the mirror and think this is it, this has happened, this will remain.

Still something is missing, something Kihyun does not know how to interpret and so, this time, he asks. They’re seated on the couch of the little shop, side by side, arms pressed up against each other as if they couldn’t bear to be apart. Kihyun’s shirt is somewhere on the floor, Hyungwon’s hanging half off one of his shoulder. Kihyun’s a mess, still sticky where Hyungwon has wiped his cum off him, Hyungwon’s taste at the back of his mouth.

“Why won’t you fuck me?” he asks bluntly and Hyungwon splutters in surprise, laughing when he realizes how serious Kihyun is.

“I will once you fall in love with me,” he says simply, mischievous, full lips smiling.

“You think I’m gonna fall in love with you?” Kihyun retorts, trying to keep the bewilderment out of his voice. Next to him Hyungwon shrugs, nodding.

“Yeah,” he says with emphasis and Kihyun doesn’t know if he should scoff or deny it. Hyungwon doesn’t formalize himself of his silence, gently nudging his shoulder instead.

“It’s okay,” he says, patting Kihyun’s thigh. “You can take your time. I’m very patient.”

Kihyun remains seated there on the couch as Hyungwon gets up, pulling his shirt back on to trudge to the coffee maker behind the counter. _I will once you fall in love with me_ , Hyungwon had said with so much confidence it hadn’t even felt within the realm of possibilities to deny it. And yet Kihyun had never considered this was something that could happen. That they could be more than whatever this was, that the lunar pull he felt bringing them together could have a name.

“What if you fall in love with me first?” Kihyun asks, bristling, when Hyungwon comes back with a warm cup he puts in his hand.

Hyungwon shrugs, sipping from his own mug. His hair has grown longer still, brushing the slope of his shoulders and it feels good, it feels so good when Kihyun thread his hands through the strands, tugging to get Hyungwon to moan. The image almost makes him blush and Kihyun buries his face in his coffee, missing the way Hyungwon stares back at him, pondering, something soft and vulnerable in his gaze.

“Then I do and it’s my problem,” Hyungwon says eventually, sitting back down next to Kihyun.

Kihyun feels unmoored, as if something had shifted without his notice, something he could not place yet retained tremendous importance. He wants to leave, sees it in his head – him standing from the couch, gathering his discarded shirt, shrugging on his coat and his shoes and crossing the threshold into the night. Hyungwon would watch him and say nothing, just as he always lets Kihyun do what he wants, just as he always does what Kihyun needs. And yet Kihyun remains where he is, tucked against Hyungwon, the coffee warming his guts just as Hyungwon’s body warms his side. And Kihyun’s rich of him, his scent and his touch and his voice in his ears yet he’s still not satiated, yet he still itches to pull and hold and caress and he knows he could, he knows Hyungwon would let him, welcome him to his body and his mind and everything in between. Kihyun is terrified. There is a dismal pit opening within him and he does not know the name of the feelings that churn there, of the yearning that pulls at him, pushing thorns under his skin.

And so he remains still, hands cradling his steaming mug, Hyungwon’s steady presence at his side and after a while it’s not so bad, after a while the turmoil within him resolves itself in something almost kind, almost gentle. He feels lethargic, boneless, as if a simple touch would scatter him, as if slumber was waiting behind his eyes. And for once he lets himself feel it, putting down his mug on the coffee table, curling against Hyungwon’s side, his head on his shoulder. Hyungwon remains silent, sipping at his coffee, his breath moth-like against Kihyun’s hair, his warmth all encompassing. In this moment Kihyun finds it again, this sacred breath, this something eternal and he’ll always have been there, pressed against Hyungwon in the dead of night, feeling his heartbeat and his breath and the touch of his skin against his own.

Hyungwon shifts, gently, almost imperceptibly, adjusting his stance to accommodate Kihyun.

“Do you want to go sleep? It’s late enough to sneak in,” his voice comes in a whisper and if Kihyun recognizes the hopeful lilt to his words he doesn’t acknowledge it, opening his eyes to glance up at him.

“Out of the both of us, who will Minhyuk murder when he finds out?”

“He’ll rip my dick off and choke you with it,” Hyungwon says flatly, “we’ll both die.”

“I have practice choking on your dick, though,” Kihyun remarks, “I bet I could survive.”

Hyungwon shoves him with an embarrassed laugh, Kihyun letting himself crumple against the cushions.

“I’m coming if you carry me,” he says then, yawning.

“What? Like, all the way?”

“Yeah,” Kihyun says, bleary eyes on Hyungwon who sits there, considering him in silence. And then he stands, bending to retrieve Kihyun’s hoodie off the floor, dropping it on his head.

“Alright,” he says as Kihyun struggles to free himself of his hoodie-induced blindness.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah,” Hyungwon shrugs, unimpressed.

Kihyun remains still for half a second before he throws his hoodie on, standing up too quickly; his vision blurs and he holds out a hand reflexively, Hyungwon instantly there to hold him. It hits Kihyun then, how attuned Hyungwon is to each of his gestures, each of his quirks. But Kihyun doesn’t dwell on it – Hyungwon is leading him through the shop and once all the lights are turned off, once the door is locked and they stand outside, he does carry him. For longer than Kihyun thought he could, too, laughing and stumbling through darkened streets, Kihyun clutching at his shoulders with panicked shrieks each time Hyungwon roughly adjust his position on his back. It’s stupid, and probably dangerous too, Hyungwon wobbling between cars as they cross busy streets, but there’s a childish giddiness rising in Kihyun’s chest, one he lets out in small giggles against Hyungwon’s nape.

Hyungwon stops at the foot of the hill leading to his apartment complex, leaning forward, out of breath, Kihyun plastered against his back.

“Forget about Minhyuk,” he says, “this is how I die.”

Kihyun laughs, sliding off, Hyungwon theatrically collapsing against the concrete once he’s freed of Kihyun’s weight.

“Just leave me,” he drawls. “I’ll only slow you down. Please tell my wife I love her.”

“Get up, you fuck,” Kihyun giggles, tugging on Hyungwon’s hand until he gets up, sneaking his arm around Kihyun’s shoulders to use him as a crutch as they start trudging up the hill.

They walk stumbling like drunkards, tripping each other, wandering hands gripping shirts and belt loops and hanging off bony shoulders. Hyungwon is laughing, bright and airy and there’s a lightness in Kihyun’s chest he hasn’t felt in a long time. It does feel as if he was drunk, really, chest warm and full, Hyungwon close, so close, his hands around Kihyun’s shoulders and gripping his arm and gripping his shirt and when Kihyun trips Hyungwon pulls him back and pushes him against a wall, staring at his eyes, and when he dips his head to kiss the whisker dimples on the side of Kihyun’s face Kihyun sighs, something keen and deep and yearning.

Hyungwon chuckles, dips lower to nibble at Kihyun’s lips and Kihyun squirms, pressed there against the wall, kissing back with wandering hands buried in Hyungwon’s hair, bringing him closer, keeping him there. Kihyun comes back to himself when a car drives down the road, drenching them in yellow light and he remembers where they are then, remembers there is a whole world outside of themselves even if it hadn’t felt like it, if for a little while. He pushes Hyungwon off him, slowly, gently, Hyungwon stealing another kiss before he relents, understanding, maybe, that the spell has been broken. He takes Kihyun’s hand in his then, his long fingers enveloping it completely and Kihyun stares and thinks of the way he disappears so easily into Hyungwon; his hand in his and his body in his embrace and how Hyungwon swallows every sounds that he makes against his skin, soft moans and quiet whispers and yet Hyungwon still isn’t full, yet there is always room for more.

Something grave falls upon Kihyun then, something that weights upon his chest and pushes warmth behind his eyes, a wetness clinging to his eyelashes. He stares at Hyungwon ahead of him, the back of his head, the slope of his shoulders, the delicate bones of his wrist where it peeks out of his sleeve, their linked hands. Kihyun stares and Kihyun wishes this memory would stay forever, the hill road, the warm night, the feel of Hyungwon’s skin against his palm and their laughter still echoing in his mind. Kihyun closes his eyes, breathes deep and even, trying to soothe this feeling inside him, this sorrow he does not understand and happiness shouldn’t be so sad, he thinks, tightening his hold on Hyungwon’s hand. When he opens his eyes Hyungwon is looking back at him with a smile curving his lips, something small, something genuine that pulls at Kihyun’s heart.

 _W_ _ould the road go on forever_ , Kihyun thinks then, _that we would never arrive, that the days stop passing us by and we would remain whole and unchanged, safe, no memories forgotten, no feelings lost, no grave to_ _ever_ _hold us._

And maybe Hyungwon was right, maybe Kihyun will fall in love with him after all, maybe he has already begun. And it must be why there is a sob stuck in his chest, a fire in his lungs. Tears for the lost simplicity, for the straightforwardness of his feelings; tears because all that begins must end. So Kihyun forces a smile back, lets Hyungwon pull him towards the island of light at the top of the hill, a low fire between their clasped hands, sulphur in his chest.

  
  


**6.**

Kihyun is leafing through a magazine, spread eagle on Minhyuk’s bed as the latter comes back from the kitchen, throwing an unopened bag of crisps in his face. Kihyun rolls on his back, scooting to the side of the mattress to make room for Minhyuk, who plants on his belly right next to him, making grabby hands when Kihyun finally manages to open the snacks. Minhyuk is supposed to be studying. Kihyun is supposed to be hitting up the temp agency for more work, his last contract having ended last week. Neither of them is doing either of that.

“I’m exhausted,” Minhyuk says, mouth full, crumbs flying. Kihyun wrinkles his nose, brushing the sheets with his hand. Minhyuk’s elbow digs into his ribs each time he reaches for more crisps yet Kihyun doesn’t move, body lax, almost lethargic against the soft, washed-out sheets of Minhyuk’s bed.

“Why did I think attending uni was a good idea?” Minhyuk continues, whining into the bag of crisps. Kihyun sighs, sparing him a glance. Minhyuk is picking the better shaped crisps out of the bag, leaving the broken ones at the bottom like he always does.

“You have ambitions,” Kihyun replies, turning his hands palm up on the sheets for Minhyuk to deposit his rejected crisps.

“Which were they again?” Minhyuk asks as he does so slowly, as if this was a particularly delicate task.

“I don’t know,” Kihyun says, watching him piling crisps into his hand. “I was just pretending to listen.”

“You’re the worst friend,” Minhyuk says, rolling on his side to kick at Kihyun’s ribs. “Get off my bed.”

“You love me,” Kihyun replies, laughing, fending off the weak kicks with his free hand as he stuffs his mouth with the other. Minhyuk relents, sighing, rolling back onto his belly.

“No,” he says airily, stretching his arms above his head. “I merely tolerate you”

“Ouch,” Kihyun curls on himself as if he’d been stabbed in the chest. “Unrequited love is the worst.”

“Get used to it,” Minhyuk says as he turns his head to face Kihyun, bangs flopping into his eyes. Kihyun smiles a tired smile, pushing Minhyuk’s hair out of his face, tenderly like a lover would. He scoots closer then, leaning towards him as if to deposit a kiss at the corner of his lips. Minhyuk’s eyes are wide open, his mouth pursed.

“You’re a huge bitch,” Kihyun whispers against Minhyuk’s skin in a honeyed voice, rolling away laughing as Minhyuk whacks him with all his might.

“You’re the fucking worst,” Minhyuk shrieks, sitting up to grab at a pillow he uses to pummel a still laughing Kihyun, who ends up ripping the pillow out of Minhyuk’s hands to use it as intended, wedging it under his neck as he settles on his back, crossing his hands on his belly, satisfied.

“Deserved,” is all he says, Minhyuk rolling his eyes as he settles against the headboard, a thoughtful look on his face.

“Speaking of huge bitches,” he starts, Kihyun glancing at him with an eyebrow raised. “Something weird happened the other day,” he continues, gaze much too intent on Kihyun’s face.

“Yeah?” Kihyun prompts, not liking one bit the feeling of foreboding he feels rising in his stomach.

“Hyungwon talked to me,” Minhyuk announces with too much pathos. Kihyun snorts.

“Wow, did he ask for a trial by combat to determine who’s gotta move out?”

“No,” Minhyuk smiles, too shark-like for comfort, and Kihyun swallows back the banter about to spill from his lips.

“What did he want then?” he asks instead in what he hopes in a disinterested enough tone.

“He asked me questions about you,” Minhyuk enunciates slowly, peering closely at Kihyun, who keeps his expression carefully blank.

“Uh,” Kihyun says, hands going for the packet of crisps. “Yeah, that’s weird,” he says, stuffing his mouth to give himself countenance. “What did he wanna know?”

Minhyuk smiles as if he had just won a bet and stretches his arms above his head, taking his time to answer. Kihyun’s heart beats loudly against his ribs and there’s something he hopes Minhyuk will answer yet he cannot formulate it for himself.

“What do you do,” Minhyuk says eventually, “what’s your family like.”

Kihyun remains silent, his hand hovering over the packet of crisp. It’s strange, he thinks, it really is. It’s strange imagining Hyungwon asking about him. He exists, then, Kihyun exists for Hyungwon outside of those nightly hours where he comes to seek him out. He exists, and Hyungwon thinks about him, and Hyungwon talks about him with his step-brother who hates him.

“What did you say?” Kihyun asks, the crisps much too dry, much too salty for his constricted throat once he finally bites into it.

“That it’s none of his business. And that you don’t know either,” Minhyuk says. “But that’s not all. He wanted to know if you like pineapple on your pizza. What’s your favourite colour and how do you feel about otters.”

“I feel great about otters,” Kihyun says lamely, staring at the ceiling, trying to remove with his tongue a chunk of crisp stuck in his teeth.

“Are you two fucking?” Minhyuk bluntly asks then, Kihyun biting down on his tongue with a whimper. He’s glad he doesn’t have to lie, then, and he forces himself to turn to Minhyuk, to stare him in the eyes.

“No.”

“Do you wish you were fucking?” Minhyuk doubles down and Kihyun falters. He looks back at the ceiling, Minhyuk’s shriek ringing in his ears.

“You do! You want to fuck my brother!”

“I don’t!” Kihyun defends himself, throwing the pack of crisps at Minhyuk. His face feels hot, his chest close to bursting. “And since when is he your brother?”

“Since you want to fuck him!” Minhyuk yells, sitting cross-legged on the bed, clutching the pack of crisps to his chest. “I’m so offended,” he adds for good measure, Kihyun shaking his head.

“I do not want to fuck your brother,” Kihyun enunciates very slowly, sitting as well, Minhyuk narrowing his eyes at him. It tastes like a lie, and to Minhyuk’s ears, it must sound like one.

“I don’t believe you,” Minhyuk says simply, “he’s exactly your type.”

“I don’t have a type,” Kihyun defends, ineffectively.

“Pretty edgelords, that’s your type.”

“So you recognize he’s pretty?” Kihyun asks with a sly smile and a raised eyebrow, Minhyuk clutching the packet of crisps even tighter with an offended shriek.

“I have never felt this insulted in my entire goddamn life,” he says, looking at Kihyun as if he had just morphed into a pile of fuming manure right there on his bed.

“You just said it yourself!” Kihyun splutters and Minhyuk, all offended dignity, lets go of the crisps packet to turn an affronted glare to the ceiling.

“How will I ever be able to trust you again?” he asks with a sob in his voice and Kihyun rolls his eyes, kicking him in the shin.

“Cut the crap, will you?”

Minhyuk laughs then, looking back down at Kihyun.

“Okay, alright,” he says, magnanimous. “But, like, don’t fuck him. Not just cause he’s a bitch and my step-brother and also a huge bitch.”

“You forgot to mention he’s a bitch,” Kihyun mumbles then.

“That too,” Minhyuk points at him with a smile. But his face turns serious then and Kihyun hesitates, withdrawing into himself; Minhyuk is rarely serious, as embarrassed by emotions as Kihyun is and their relationship rarely allowed for the openness, the vulnerability Kihyun sees now in Minhyuk’s tentative stare, in the shy turn of his mouth. A knot forms in his belly as Minhyuk opens and closes his mouth, a nervous laugh escaping him before he pushes his hair back, glancing at Kihyun before his gaze lands on the disembowelled pack of crisps in between them. Something easier to look at, something that won’t look back.

“You don’t do well with fuck buddies, yeah?” Minhyuk says eventually, barrelling on before Kihyun can say anything. “You get attached even if you say you don’t and then you invest too much of yourself and then it’s too late and I find you bleeding at my door like two days after they walked out because they understood you coped feelings. You’ve been doing well, you know, these past weeks. I don’t want you to go back to that. I don’t want to see you all fucked up again. It hurts me too, you know.”

The silence following Minhyuk’s words is heavy, the kind that sinks like treacle in narrow chests and drowns out thoughts in messy heads. Kihyun shifts, caught between reaching out and retreating and the movement drags Minhyuk’s gaze to him, Minhyuk who laughs, bashful, shaking his head.

“Was that too much?” he asks, a sheepish smile on his lips. “It felt like too much.”

“It’s okay,” Kihyun says, tentative. “It’s fine, I– I won’t get all fucked up again.”

“I don’t believe you,” Minhyuk says, his smile taking off the worst of the edge, “but the feeling is nice.”

“Fuck off,” Kihyun laughs, pushing Minhyuk with his foot.

Minhyuk swats at him, reclining back against the pillows, a heavy sigh escaping his chest.

“Those crisps made me thirsty,” he says, not looking at Kihyun. “Can you go grab something to drink? It’s your turn.”

“Sure,” Kihyun says, recognizing an escape when he sees one. He gets to his feet, leaving the room’s door ajar, padding down to the kitchen.

There he stands at the sink, hands gripping the counter, a tightness in his chest he doesn’t know how to get out of himself. _It hurts me too_ , Minhyuk had said, his voice sad, his gaze holding yet more sorrow. And Kihyun should have known, really, it was there in Minhyuk’s infinite patience, in his unfaltering loyalty, in the way he would let him in, always, let him stay, let him bleed on his white pillows and drag his pains through his house, how he’d listen and never ask. But it was different to see it plain on his face, to hear it in his voice – how much he cares, how much it has come to mean, what they built in the dark hours of sleepless nights, in rushed mornings and too long evenings where it was just them and the moon and the quiet.

Kihyun releases a shuddering breath, pushing his hair back and it’s fine, it’s alright, this is nothing bad, nothing unpleasant and yet – yet there was never this much to lose, yet this anguish Kihyun knows well burns in his lungs like wildfire. _It hurts me too_ , and Kihyun wonders when it had started, when had they become so entangled in each other and he tries to imagine a time before Minhyuk yet nothing comes to mind and did he always have it? That which he has looked for so long; a belonging, a place to rest.

There’s a noise at the door and Kihyun jolts, turning on his heels, words ready for Minhyuk to hear but it’s not him standing there, it’s Hyungwon, eyes wide and lips parted and he’s still wearing his coat, hair a mess from the wind howling outside, hand clutching a ratty knapsack at his side.

“What are you doing here?” Kihyun hears himself ask and Hyungwon seems to come back to himself then, taking a step inside.

“I just – I live here? And I don’t work afternoons on Thursdays and – what are _you_ doing here?”

“I’m just hanging with Minhyuk,” Kihyun says lamely and it shouldn’t be this jarring to see Hyungwon in the daylight, unexpected, in a place he calls his home. Kihyun’s gaze falls to Hyungwon’s neck and he stares to the leaf that curls there before drifting to his half-open coat, the scarf pulled loose from the collar, wisps of messy hair stuck in the folds and it feels almost forbidden to see Hyungwon like this – he was going home, he wasn’t ready to be seen, none of his slick, clever ways coating him and he feels too real then, too tangible, too beautiful.

He still moves as through water, though, still languid even as he rushes inside, dropping his bag to free a hand he reaches out to Kihyun.

“Fuck,” he simply says, before they collide.

His hands are everywhere, then. In Kihyun’s hair as he has him lean his head back to kiss him, mouth warm and greedy, whole body surging when Kihyun parts his lips on a moan. They’re pulling at Kihyun’s shirt, bringing him impossibly closer, flush against Hyungwon’s chest; they’re brushing against Kihyun’s sides, barely there yet Kihyun shivers as they pass; they’re resting on Kihyun’s hips, fingers grazing the slip of skin below the hem of his shirt and Kihyun whimpers, something soft and needy that has Hyungwon laughs against his mouth as he nudges a thigh between Kihyun’s own.

And Kihyun shamelessly grinds down, bucking his hips against Hyungwon who pulls at his hair, forcing his head back to deepen the kiss and Kihyun’s famished; he wants more, more of Hyungwon’s dark taste on his tongue, more of his heady warmth, of his weight pressing into him. He moans again, choked and wanton, sparking something wicked in Hyungwon – his hands slide up Kihyun’s sides and he hauls him up on the counter, dipping his head to nip at the sensitive point below his ear, licking a trail up to mouth at the shell and Kihyun shivers, trying so swallow back a whine as Hyungwon lightly bites at his lobe.

“Shhh,” Hyungwon whispers against his skin, “don’t drag Minhyuk down here.”

And Kihyun should feel bad, really, yet Hyungwon’s words just add to the starved fire in his belly much as his hands do, travelling down his chest, resting at the waist of his pants as Hyungwon finds Kihyun’s mouth again, tracing the seem of his lips before Kihyun parts them on a sigh and he surges inside, harsh and dark and wanting. His fingers make quick work of Kihyun’s zipper and the cry Kihyun lets out when Hyungwon’s fingers find his half-hard cock is swallowed by greedy lips.

Kihyun strains on the counter, gripping at Hyungwon’s shoulders, pulling at his hair – it’s a quick affair, rushed and carnal, an impulse needing fulfilment. Hyungwon leaves Kihyun long enough to spit in his hand and then he’s back, warm and fast and lethal; he thumbs at the head of Kihyun’s cock, spreading precum and Kihyun yet hardens, rising his hips in a stutter, looking for friction, for something more, for Hyungwon’s hands on him and the wicked rhythm that he builds. Kihyun fucks up into Hyungwon’s fist as Hyungwon jerks him hard and fast, tonguing at his mouth, swallowing every curses, every choked moans and quiet pleas.

Kihyun’s release comes white hot and blinding. Hyungwon feels it coming, in the stuttering of Kihyun’s hips maybe, the tensing of his abdomen. He breaks the kiss, slapping his free hand over Kihyun’s mouth to muffle his noises, staring straight into his eyes as he flicks his wrist, pressing his thumb down, quickening the rhythm of his deft fingers. Kihyun jerks, his breath seizing. He cums biting down on Hyungwon’s hand.

“Fuck,” Kihyun whispers, slowly bending forward until his forehead rests against Hyungwon’s chest, who’s bitten hand comes massaging his neck, slow, gentle movements Kihyun preens under.

And Kihyun’s chest is swelling, with warmth and something else, words he mustn’t say pushing against his lips. He looks up, staring at Hyungwon’s face who smiles and leans down, pressing a kiss to his lips, something soft and too gentle, something that has Kihyun feel like crying.

There’s a slam, then. Footsteps down the corridor and they spring far apart, Kihyun tucking himself back into his pants as Hyungwon shoves his dirty hand under the spray to wash away the remnants of what just happened. When Minhyuk enters Kihyun is seemingly busy searching the fridge while Hyungwon gathers random utensils from the cupboards.

“What the hell, what’s taking you so long?” he asks, Kihyun peeking at him from above the fridge’s door. “Is this guy bothering you, queen?”

“Yes,” Kihyun says slowly, Minhyuk’s gaze turning to Hyungwon.

“I knew you looked suspicious.”

“I’m just making myself cereals,” Hyungwon says helplessly, glancing at Kihyun who wisely chooses to keep pretending looking for drinks.

“Yeah right, that’s what they all say.”

Hyungwon shakes his head, rolling his eyes as he goes back to rummaging in the cupboard, retrieving the biggest bowl Kihyun has ever seen. Kihyun stares at his fingers curling around the ceramic, a faint blush rising to his cheeks as he remembers how they had felt against his own skin mere minutes ago. He almost jumps when Minhyuk plasters himself against the fridge’s door, peering down inside.

“Dude just grab something, it’s not rocket science,” he says and Kihyun hadn’t even noticed him stepping closer. He grabs the first bottle he sees, extending it to Minhyuk who stares back at him blankly, gingerly taking the bottle from him.

“Are you having a stroke? That’s soy sauce, the coke is right there.”

Minhyuk pushes him aside, putting back the soy sauce where it belongs to grab a half empty bottle of coke. Kihyun bites his cheek, sparing a glance back at Hyungwon who’s trying not to laugh and he rolls his eyes just as Minhyuk slams the fridge’s door shut, trudging back towards the door.

“C’mon,” he gestures for Kihyun to follow and Kihyun does, sparing one last glance at Hyungwon before they leave the room.

Hyungwon has abandoned the bowl on the counter and he’s staring back, something soft in his gaze Kihyun isn’t sure he was meant to see. He smiles, Hyungwon smiling back, something tired and barely there Kihyun wants to ask about but Minhyuk is walking fast down the hallway and he has no reason to linger, not really, and he tries a little wave before Hyungwon is out of sight, one Hyungwon doesn’t return.

  
  


**7.**

Kihyun finds his way to the same bar again, for a reason that escapes him. But there had been kindness there, one he hadn’t asked for, one he hadn’t known what to do with. _Now behave_ , the guy had said that one time, as he had deposited him on the sidewalk. And Kihyun isn’t sure if he had managed, really, or if he had simply made everything worst, everything that used to be so simple. There’s a jumbled mess of feelings inside him, churning like lava against his brittle bones, pushing against the seams of his too-tight skin. He has spent so much time trying not to feel anything he doesn’t know what to do with this obesity of feelings sitting heavy within his chest.

How must he withstand this? Since there is no escape, since all that begins must end, how can he salvage those small precious things – the touch a hand, the curve of a smile, the sounds of soft whispers against his skin. This is a special way of being afraid, losing what isn’t yet yours, what you won’t allow yourself to get because it would hurt too much, really, to watch it bloom and grow and wither back to ashes, no touch or smell or taste, nothing left besides staring at each other as strangers again. And that’s it, really, Kihyun is terrified. Grief sits with him everywhere he goes, weighting him down like his own flesh and he cannot allow it to grow, cannot nourish it further lest it becomes all that there is.

And so his fingers grips the drink he’d ordered and never consumed, staring at the dark wood of the counter, countless cuffs mark and glass rings etched into it from times gone by, from other patrons who had sat there and Kihyun wonders what they were thinking then, if their thoughts were as dark as his own, if they had felt this gripping fear, too, this unfocused blur on the edge of his vision that calls for a stand still, a stagnation, for indecision lest he makes the wrong choice, a choice he could never unmade, one that would ruin more than it would ever reward.

“You good there?” a voice asks next to his ear and Kihyun jolts, turning to the man who has taken the seat next to his. He’s pretty, really, sharp edges and an easy grin, short hair that falls in messy strands upon his forehead. Kihyun smiles back, because that’s what one does when pretty strangers ask questions, and he knows then, at the slow blink of the stranger, the lazy grin that stretches, where this is going.

Kihyun doesn’t know if they locked the door but his back is hitting a wall and there are hands under his shirt, lips at his neck mouthing at that soft point below his ear and he whines in his throat, the guy nudging a knee between his thighs and he’s kissing him then but it’s wrong, all wrong – the wrong hands and the wrong taste and the wrong scent, the wrong touch against his skin and Kihyun freezes when the stranger’s fingers rest at the waist of his pants, tugging on the fastenings.

“Wait, fuck,” Kihyun says, his own clammy hands gripping the stranger’s wrist, “don’t, I’m not, I don’t–”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” the stranger spits, Kihyun pressing on his chest to push him away.

“Just fuck off, okay?” Kihyun says and he can see the guy is angry, and there’s a rush in his ears he knows well and he could just end it here, really, he could, leave the bathroom and regain the bar before this gets any worse but it’s so tempting, it’s so easy, and he needs something to happen, something to burst, something to break this unbearable tension under his skin.

“You’re a fucking asshole, yeah?” Kihyun grits, jabbing a finger in the guy’s chest, “sorry you’re not getting your dick wet, just punch me if it will make you feel better you fucking bast–”

The guy punches like he kisses. Hard and fast and Kihyun hits the wall again, ears ringing, letting himself slide down to the floor as the door bangs back and he wonders if the guy is going to go for a kick then, they always do when he’s the first one to hit the floor. But nothing happens. There’s a voice, and a scuffle, and then silence. Kihyun forces his eyes open and a guy is crouching in front of him, one he remembers; his soft eyes and his soft smile and his soft everything despite his size.

“Are you alright?” the guy asks with concern and Kihyun forces a smile; the stranger got him in the jaw, it’s not so bad, really, stings just a little but Kihyun bit his tongue on the way down and the smile comes out bloody. The guy winces, in sympathy or disgust, it’s a bit hard to tell.

“I’m okay,” Kihyun slurs, trying to get up but the guy rests a hand on his shoulder, keeping him still.

“Stay here for a bit, while we get rid of him.”

“You’re not doing the ridding this time?”

The guy laughs then and it’s sweet, of course it is.

“Not always,” he says, and then blinks, concern settling on his features.

“Are you sure you’re okay? Is there any one we can call to pick you up?”

Hyungwon’s face flashes in Kihyun’s mind and disgust surges in him then, disgust for what he just did, for the dingy bathroom he finds himself him and the sticky feeling left on his skin by foreign hands.

“I’m good,” he says, swallowing hard. “I was kinda looking for it anyway.”

The guy sighs, gently lifting Kihyun’s chin to inspect the extent of the damage.

“Even if you were it doesn’t give him an excuse to do it.”

“Doesn’t it?” Kihyun asks just to be difficult and the guy sighs again, dropping his hand from Kihyun’s face.

“I think you’ll bruise but there’s no swelling. We’ll get some ice on it anyway. And no, it doesn’t.”

“I told him he could punch me,” Kihyun insists, watching with interest a could of annoyance waft over the guy’s face. Kihyun wonders then what it would take to truly rile him up, to watch anger bloom on his gentle face but the annoyance doesn’t last, replaced by something too much like genuine worry that puts Kihyun immediately on edge.

“Look,” the guy says, staring in Kihyun’s eyes, “if some guy comes up to me and tells me to punch him into oblivion I wouldn’t, because I’m not an asshole, and don’t get me wrong, sometimes some people do deserve their shit wrecked, but not you, not in this situation, never like this.”

Kihyun makes a noise halfway between a laugh and a sob and leans his head back against the wall, closing his eyes.

“You’re too nice,” he says then, the guy’s soft laugh echoing again.

“Oh, you should see me when I actually make an effort,” the guy replies and Kihyun looks back at him, at his wide smile and kind eyes.

“That’s not you making an effort?” he says, an eyebrow raised, earning himself one more chuckle.

“Nah, this is easy,” the guy simply states, getting back up to his feet, extending a hand for Kihyun to take. “Come on, we should be good to go.”

They sit him in the stockroom with a glass of water and a bag of ice wrapped in a towel to press against his jaw, the quiet barman bringing him leftover pajeon to munch on. It’s almost silent in the little room, save for the soft music from the bar filtering through the closed door and Kihyun sighs, resting his head against his arms, sprawled over the little table wedged there. _I’m sorry I didn’t behave_ , he’d told the bouncer as he had led him there, and the guy had laughed, shaking his head. _It’s okay, you’re not so bad anyway_.

Kihyun burrows further into the crook of his arm, the improvised ice pack abandoned on the table. The fire is doused now, only scorched earth left behind with a weariness he knows well, one seated deep in his bones. He doesn’t even feel the pain in his jaw anymore, and shame has receded, beaten back by warm eyes and kind hands. _This is easy,_ the guy had said and Kihyun wishes that it were, wishes he knew how to do it simple, how to climb clear of his wrong beginnings towards something kinder, something softer. He wishes he knew how to breath through that thick air filling his lungs, how to retain water in his cupped hands, how to settle this desperate blood of his, pulsating warm and fast under his skin.

And then there’s a warm hand on his shoulder, kind eyes looking down on him when he gazes up.

“I’m on my break, I can drive you home. You’re ready?” the guy asks and Kihyun numbly nods, trailing after him through the back door down to the parking lot.

“Why do you go so far for strangers?” Kihyun asks once they’re both seated, once the guy has entered the address Kihyun gives him into his GPS and reversed out of his spot.

“What’s your name?” the guy answers instead and Kihyun stares at his profile lighted by the street-lights, his short dark hair, his broad shoulders.

“Yoo Kihyun,” he says eventually and the guy smiles, taking a turn at the urge of the robotic voice coming out of his phone.

“I’m Lee Hoseok. There, we’re not strangers anymore.”

“That’s still not an answer,” Kihyun laughs and he’s surprised at the lightness in his chest, Hoseok glancing at him with a smile before looking back at the road. The car is warm, maybe too much so yet Kihyun is comfortable, reclining back against his seat, staring at the empty streets fleeting by the window.

“I guess you could call it peace of mind. I’d rather know you’re somewhere safe rather than picturing you alone in the streets looking for another fight.”

“But why do you care?” Kihyun insists and he needs to know, really, such kindness cannot be for free. But Hoseok just shrugs, taking yet another turn, slowing down to let pass a bunch of revellers who smile at him, waving their hands in thanks as they hurry to the other side. Kihyun watches them go, the smiles on their faces, the one guy help up by another, hanging off his shoulders, his friend gripping him tight not to let him slip.

“You’re human too,” Hoseok says then, “that should be enough to deserve help. Empathy never killed anyone.”

“Most people wouldn’t do the same, though.”

“That’s their problem, not mine,” Hoseok shrugs and Kihyun recognizes the street then, the one going up the hill, the one he had walked the length of with Hyungwon that night and he had known then, staring at the back of his head, the slope of his shoulders, his hand in his as Hyungwon had trailed him after himself. Kihyun had known it was already too late, that he already loved him.

“Which building is it?” Hoseok asks then and Kihyun jolts, leaning towards the windshield to stare at the apartment bars looming over them.

“Here is fine,” he says, Hoseok swerving into an empty spot to let him off.

“Take care of yourself, Kihyun, yeah?” he says, leaning over the console before Kihyun closes the door. “Come back to the bar anytime,” he waves as Kihyun salutes back, closing the passenger door.

Kihyun waits for the car’s tail lights to disappear down the road before he moves, hands shoved far in his coat’s pockets, shoulders hunched against the cold. _Come back to the bar anytime_ , and when had he started collecting places? Minhyuk’s bedroom and the rest of the apartment and Hyungwon’s large bed. The tattoo parlor he’d never seen by day and that run-down bar, his own room, even, and the strangers on either side.

He walks quickly, staring at himself in the elevator’s mirror and Hoseok was right, there is no swelling, just a light bruising and the dull pain in his tongue where he’d bit it. This will fade soon, too, no traces left of what had happen, just the ghost of a memory, harsh hands and the kindness of a familiar stranger. And Kihyun finds that he doesn’t mourn it, this time. _Come to the bar anytime_ and Hoseok will always be there, and there will always be someone to come open the door his knuckles raps against. Kihyun is not sure who he wishes would answer, his heart beating fast against his ribs as he waits, the timer going off plunging him into the dark.

The door opens then, and it’s Hyungwon leaning there, a lazy smile on his lips as he settles against the doorframe.

“Hey there,” he says in a lazy drawl and Kihyun stares, heart in his throat. “Shit, did something happen?” Hyungwon surges forward then, framing Kihyun’s face in his hands to lift it towards the light streaming from the hallway.

“No, it’s alright, it’s nothing,” Kihyun says and it’s true, it’s really nothing, the stranger already fading from his mind, replaced by Hoseok’s unending care and Hyungwon’s hands on his face.

“Come on,” Hyungwon says then, grabbing his wrist to pull him inside. “Minhyuk won’t be back until late, have you eaten?”

Kihyun laughs then, something slightly hysterical that has Hyungwon turn to him with wide eyes.

“What is so funny?”

“Nothing, sorry,” Kihyun says, shaking his head as he stands there in the middle of the hallway, his hand limp in Hyungwon’s grasp. He must say it, take out of himself this weight pushing against his ribs before they break, even if he’s terrified, even if it might ruin him, later, when the beginning brings him to the end.

“You were right,” he says then, staring at Hyungwon’s fingers on his skin and there’s something new there, the skin red and slightly raised where black shapes like dotwork stream in waves down his wrist over his scaphoid and trapezium, tapering at the root of his index. Kihyun stares, stares at the shape until he sees them at the back of his eyelids when he closes his eyes.

“Right about what?” Hyungwon asks, unsure, when nothing else comes forth. Kihyun’s gaze flits up to his face then back to his hand and he cannot decide whether the shapes are organic or purely abstract. It could be roots, or scales, or sound waves and they shifts when Hyungwon moves, pulling Kihyun closer to him, letting go of his hand to frame his face and lean his head back, staring into his eyes.

“Right about what, Kihyun?”

Kihyun feels as if he were dissolving, the air flowing cool between his ribs and into his veins, scattering flecks of his being, harmless shards falling down onto the floor. Yet Hyungwon’s hands are there, warm against his skin, holding him together, holding him whole and Kihyun closes his eyes and it’s okay, really, he can do this, go consenting even if nothing was to remain, nothing but his moth-eaten feelings and small bits of precious things; a flicker of light in dark hair, a word whispered, a breath against his skin and the touch of an adored hand.

“I fell in love with you,” Kihyun says, and the words taste lethal. “You win.”

Hyungwon gasps, embracing Kihyun to his chest, tightly, almost too much so; Kihyun doesn’t know if it’s his own heart or Hyungwon’s that he feels beating widely and he closes his eyes, breathing in this beloved scent, burrowing further into Hyungwon’s warmth, his whole body rich of him.

“I fell first,” Hyungwon is whispering into his hair, “almost the first time I saw you, with your bloody teeth on my landing.”

“Oh,” Kihyun says, leaning his head back to look at Hyungwon with a raised eyebrow, “is that a kink I should know about?”

“Fuck you,” Hyungwon laughs yet the words land like stones in Kihyun’s stomach, the ripples felt through his entire being.

“Please,” he says then, almost supplicant, and Hyungwon’s gaze on Kihyun darkens instantly, his hands on his waist tightening.

Hyungwon bends to kiss him, a noise escaping him, something halfway to a groan, something wanton that coaxes a needy mewl from Kihyun as he’s pushed back against the wall, Hyungwon’s mouth on him, warm and hungry, nibbling at the soft skin of his lips for him to part them. Kihyun strains against Hyungwon’s body caging him in, against the hands roaming his sides, lips opening on a moan as Hyungwon nudges a knee between his thighs and it’s right, it’s so right this time, the right hands and the right taste and the right scent, the right touch against his skin. And Kihyun digs his fingers in Hyungwon’s flesh, anchoring him there against himself – his breath and the beats of his heart, the hard, handsome curve of his lips and the savage touch of his greedy hands, the shift of bones under his golden skin and the fierce lines of dark ink criss-crossing in exquisite shapes. All of it, all of it contained there in this fleeting moment, this sacred breath and Kihyun knows then, he will always remember, he will, the fire of it scorching his bones down to ashes.

“Come on,” Hyungwon whispers, all warmth leaving Kihyun as he detaches from him, tugging on his wrist for him to follow and they stumble into Hyungwon’s room, door slamming behind them as Hyungwon presses Kihyun back against it, mouthing at his neck as Kihyun bucks his hips, hands gripping Hyungwon’s belt loops to pull him closer, a starved want coursing through this desperate blood of his; he craves more – he wants to be consumed, he wants to disappear, turn from earth into air under Hyungwon’s blissful fingers tracing the lines of his body. Yet Hyungwon steps back, panting, watching him stand there, half wrecked against the door and Kihyun swallows, licking his abused lips and he feels bare under Hyungwon’s dark stare as he watches him without moving.

“What is it?” Kihyun asks, a creeping sense of self-consciousness rising from the pit of his stomach – he is there, chest heaving, so open, so vulnerable, something given he cannot take back yet fear doesn’t have time to rise; Hyungwon is stepping forward, slowly, rising a hand he lays against Kihyun’s face, thumbing the edge of his cheekbone as he tucks away strands of messy hair and he leans his forehead against Kihyun’s, closing his eyes lest too much is seen.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, alighting a kiss to Kihyun’s lips, another along his jaw, his hands dropping from Kihyun’s face to his nape, teasing the short hair there and Kihyun sighs quietly, leaning his head back against the door as Hyungwon continues his ministrations, hands dropping lower, lower still, gripping the hem of Kihyun’s shirt to rid him of it. And it’s there, this perfect, numinous point of total surrender – Hyungwon’s touch excruciatingly slow, tracing the lines of Kihyun’s chest as if he was learning them, drawing them into his mind for safekeeping; the shape of Kihyun in this exact moment, the way that he moved, the feel of his skin, his taste as Hyungwon kisses along a collarbone, mouthing at the soft flesh there, leaving a bruise behind, one that won’t hurt, one that etches love in flayed bodies.

Kihyun sighs, tangling shaky fingers in Hyungwon’s long hair and he feels fragile, skin paper-thin under Hyungwon’s touch, almost deliquescent – and this moment will have always happened, he will always have been there, writhing under Hyungwon’s touch, heart beating too loud against shattered ribs; he will always have loved him, loved him so much that it hurt, molten silver chasing the marrow of his bones.

Hyungwon has knelt in front of him, hand splayed against Kihyun’s abdomen, the other unfastening his pants and Kihyun braces himself against Hyungwon’s shoulders, leaning forward as he strips him of the last of his clothes. Hyungwon sits back then, staring at the bare expanse of Kihyun’s body, lips parted and eyes dark, a hand lifting to trace the line of a hipbone and he plants a kiss there, drawing a shudder from Kihyun’s flesh. And there is nothing to hide, not anymore – every inch of Kihyun bare, every feeling plain on his face. It feels lethal, then, irreversible, Hyungwon’s gaze drinking him in, everything that he is. Hyungwon lifts a hand and it’s almost solemn, the way he touches soft fingers to the flesh of Kihyun’s thighs, smiling when a whimper escapes Kihyun; he looks up at him, gaze veiled by messy hair, lips parting on a quiet smile and Kihyun expects him to speak but Hyungwon doesn’t, nuzzling against Kihyun’s pelvis as his hands inch up his thighs and Kihyun gasps when Hyungwon grazes his half-hard cock with slow fingers, humming under his breath.

Hyungwon circles a loose hand around Kihyun’s length, stroking lazily yet it is already too much; Kihyun bends at the waist, a gasp escaping him, hands clutching Hyungwon’s shoulders knelt there before him and Hyungwon’s hand tightens, tongue escaping from his lips; he licks a lazy path up Kihyun’s thigh before leaning in and taking him into his mouth, nibbling at the head, slow strokes of his tongue and Kihyun whines; it’s sloppy, lazy and slow yet Hyungwon has closed his eyes and Kihyun watches his lush lips wrap around his cock, a low fire burning in his belly – his hands leave Hyungwon’s shoulders, trace the dark lines winding up his throat before losing themselves in his hair as Hyungwon takes in yet more of him, tongue pressing flat against the underside, cheeks hollowing as he starts bobbing his head. Kihyun swallows back a moan, tugging at Hyungwon’s hair. His hips jerk, once, Hyungwon humming in response as Kihyun watches his eyes water, a wetness clinging to his eyelashes Kihyun wipes off with trembling fingers and Hyungwon preens, swallowing around Kihyun’s cock.

And Hyungwon hands travel further, leaving Kihyun’s thighs to knead at his ass, fingers teasing and Kihyun gasps; he needs to touch then, hands burning where they burrow in Hyungwon’s hair and he pushes him off before it gets too much, bending to kiss him, his taste dark and heady and it’s his own, it’s him there on Hyungwon’s tongue and Kihyun whines, deepening the kiss, finding himself inside Hyungwon. Hyungwon rises then, clutching him against himself, the rough fabric of his clothes scraping against Kihyun’s naked skin.

“Hyungwon, ah, hey–” Kihyun pants, Hyungwon humming against his lips, peppering kisses along his jaw, hands back to tease and caress.

Kihyun pushes back, hands against Hyungwon’s chest who looks to him with a crooked smile as he lets himself be handled, walked backwards towards the bed where he falls with a nudge of Kihyun’s hands. And Kihyun stares. Hyungwon props himself up on his elbows, staring back unabashedly. In the half-light streaming from the window Kihyun details the messy strands of hair falling like shadows over his brow, the heavy-lidded eyes rendered almost too dark by pupils blown wide, luscious lips parted, Hyungwon’s tongue darting to wet them and Kihyun knows what he’s tasting then, his own taste, his own taste on Hyungwon’s lips and maybe he can mark him too, carve a memory there, one that won’t fade, one that will remain.

Kihyun takes a step forward, slowly, climbing over Hyungwon to straddle his thighs and he can see the bulge in his pants yet Hyungwon doesn’t make a move, waiting, entirely surrendered and the silver in Kihyun’s bones flares white-hot, heat pooling in his abdomen as he bends to kiss him, letting go to mouth at his neck as he unbuttons his shirt, nibbling at the skin revealed there, scraping teeth to elicit a hiss and Kihyun follows the dark lines of Hyungwon’s tattoos with his tongue; these will always be there, these will always stay – Kihyun sucks a bruise below Hyungwon’s collarbone, Hyungwon’s hand finding its way into his hair as Kihyun goes lower, teasing a hard nipple, lower still until he has to raise to unfasten Hyungwon’s belt, pulling to free him.

He’s fully hard, cock curving towards his abdomen and Kihyun stares; they’ve never been like this, this slow, this quiet, and he should be scared yet he isn’t – Hyungwon is there, solid under his hand, bare and surrendered and Kihyun sighs, something deep from his chest that leaves him hollow.

“You okay?” Hyungwon asks then, Kihyun nodding, humming under his breath as he traces a line down Hyungwon’s stomach. He cocks his hips tentatively, brushing against Hyungwon who gasps, arching off the bed for more and Kihyun holds them both in his hand then, stroking slowly, watching as Hyungwon closes his eyes, lips parted on soft moans Kihyun traps against the palm he presses to Hyungwon’s mouth, feeling the moth-like lightness of his breath, the teasing tip of his tongue against his skin.

“I want to ride you,” he says then, Hyungwon sucking in a breath, his cock twitching in Kihyun’s hand.

The first touch of a lubed up finger sends Kihyun reeling. Yet Hyungwon is slow, so slow, mouthing at his inner thighs as he breaches him, his free hand distractedly stroking him in a disjointed rhythm as he pushes in the second finger, Kihyun’s lower back arched off the mattress, chocked little moans falling from his lips as Hyungwon pushes in and out, scissoring him slowly, long enough that when the third digit is added Kihyun barely feels it. Hyungwon whispers soft words against his skin as Kihyun slowly fucks himself onto his hand, rocking his lips in lazy thrusts, eyes screwed shut and hands fisted into the sheets.

Hyungwon crooks his fingers just so, teasing Kihyun’s cock with a swipe of his tongue and Kihyun whines, a spasm going through him and it must be now, really, it must – he forces himself up on his elbows, Hyungwon looking up at him with a lazy grin and it must be plain on Kihyun’s face; Hyungwon scoots up with feline grace, kissing him deeply as he leans back for Kihyun to straddle him. Kihyun pauses then, running his hands over the smooth expanse of Hyungwon’s chest, gaze lost in the lines etched there; claws and scales and dark eyes, the curve of a feathered wing and the sharp points of arrows lost in volutes of smoke and ashes. And he wonders about the pain of sharp needles piercing his skin over and over again, about the swath of ink trapped under the skin, about that immutability staring back at you in the mirror.

And then, then Hyungwon is moving his hand downwards and Kihyun can feel him, feel his cock teasing experimentally with a slow thrust forward, barely there, barely a touch. Kihyun closes his eyes on the criss-crossing lines yet they’re still there behind his eyelids, moving in pulsing light; he adjusts his stance, thighs straining as he lower himself ever so slowly, Hyungwon biting back a moan when he finally breaches him, slick and thick and heavy. The silver is in Kihyun’s blood then, aching and pungent, radiating heat deep in his bones as he rocks forward, hands braced on Hyungwon’s chest. Hyungwon’s hands course over his skin, settling at the curve of his hips, fingers digging into his flesh hard enough to leave marks as Hyungwon buries himself deeper still and Kihyun curls in on himself. He’s moored, desire anchoring him to his own flesh, to each spark of pain and pleasure and nothing has ever been this acutely real, nothing has ever been this deeply felt – Hyungwon’s skin against his own, the fullness inside of him, the heat travelling up his spine at each languorous sway of his hips, Hyungwon’s breath coming out in choked gasps as he stares up at him with dark eyes, hair fanning over the white sheets like the strands of ink upon his golden skin.

Kihyun bites down on his bottom lip, scrunching his face as he strains his thighs, leveraging himself on Hyungwon’s chest to sink back down, the friction tearing a moan from his throat and he wants more, nails sinking in Hyungwon’s skin, Hyungwon who fucks up into him just as Kihyun rocks forward, a rhythm building between them to the notes of their mangled breaths and Kihyun whines – he needs to feel more, more of Hyungwon, of whatever this is, this sacred pace they’re setting and he gazes at Hyungwon through half-closed eyes, at his blissed-out face and this will remain, the feeling of Hyungwon inside him, the sounds of his flesh against his own, the feel of his hands against his skin and Hyungwon strains then, sitting up, caging Kihyun against his chest as he rocks into him, deeper each time.

He kisses him, hard and wanton, Kihyun parting his lips on a groan as Hyungwon hits the right spot time and time again, Kihyun’s body seizing against Hyungwon’s chest as he feels himself constrict around Hyungwon’s length inside him, his own cock leaking against his abdomen, trapped between him and Hyungwon and he needs more friction, he does; Hyungwon is quick to replace Kihyun’s hand with his own then, stroking him in quick, jerking motions as his hips snap up, fucking into Kihyun who bites down on Hyungwon’s shoulder, hard enough to draw blood – he’s close, so close, hands racking up Hyungwon’s back and he’ll leave marks there, red lines to contrast with the black and he comes at the thought, sticky and warm between their bodies. Hyungwon groans, something dark and savage as he leans Kihyun back against the mattress, shifting his weight to slam into him straight on, fucking into him once, twice, thrice more before he spills into the condom, his body seizing. And Kihyun crosses his legs to keep him there just as he softens, an exhausted laugh escaping Hyungwon who bends to kiss Kihyun’s jaw, his brow, his lips.

Kihyun is dazed, ears ringing from a different kind of fight as Hyungwon carefully pulls out, rolling onto his side next to him after getting rid of the condom. There’s a moment of latency then, quiescence threaded in between their panting breaths as Hyungwon lace their fingers together, Kihyun contemplating the hollowness of his body, cataloguing each tender ache, each yearning pain. He turns on his side, trailing soft fingers upon Hyungwon’s chest as if shifting through ashes for something precious left behind, something to hold and to keep. Hyungwon’s free hand comes to rest atop his and he presses Kihyun’s palm down against his skin, atop his beating heart and Kihyun stares; this is it, maybe, the flapping of wings against his hand.

“What are you looking for?” Hyungwon asks softly, fitting his fingers in between Kihyun’s upon his chest and something flares in Kihyun’s lungs, tenderly aching, deliquescent in the soft light of the waning evening.

“I don’t know,” he answers. _A promis_ _e. A vow too revered to break._

“I wish you could feel what I feel,” Hyungwon says then, Kihyun looking up at his face. He’s staring at the ceiling yet it’s something else that he sees, something that softens his gaze and spills warmth on his features. “You’d know, then. You wouldn’t be afraid.”

Hyungwon turns on his side, caging Kihyun in against his chest, his weight sinking him into the mattress and Kihyun clings to him, counting each points of contact between them – Hyungwon’s hands on him, their thighs touching, his breath breath fanning over his skin, his foot nudging his own.

“What would I know?” Kihyun asks, eyelids heavy; he closes them and in the dark Hyungwon is all that there is to feel, his warmth all-encompassing. Hyungwon’s tracing abstract pattern upon Kihyun’s skin with the tip of his fingers, shivers left in their wake he bends to kiss with soft lips.

“The depths of my feelings for you. They deepen like a coastal shelf within me, and there’s always new abysses I hadn’t seen. You can be afraid of anything, but you cannot be afraid of me.”

A choked noise escapes Kihyun’s chest then, something that sinks against Hyungwon’s skin as he cradles him to his chest like something precious, something adored.

“You can’t say stuff like that,” Kihyun mumbles and Hyungwon laughs, a rumble in his chest Kihyun catalogues with the rest – the smiles and the looks and the touch of fingertips.

“Why not?”

“It’s too much.”

“But it’s true,” Hyungwon whispers in Kihyun’s hair and Kihyun hits him in the shin, Hyungwon laughing, leaning over to kiss him, wistful and yearning. Kihyun sighs against his adored lips, opening his eyes when Hyungwon leans back, hair falling into his face and he’s beautiful, he is, so beautiful it almost hurts.

“You okay?” Hyungwon asks, brushing Kihyun’s hair back with a hand upon his brow and Kihyun nods, softly smiling. And he is, really. The room has darkened, a soft, grey light drawing gentle shadows like veils upon their tired bodies. It’s quiet, nothing but the sound of their breaths and the feel of their hearts. This is it, then. Somewhere he can lay his head and close his eyes.

  
  


**8.**

It doesn’t hurt as much as Kihyun thought it would. The needle grazes his skin, leaving behind a soft ache and a burning sensation that deepens as Hyungwon retraces his steps, but nothing more.

“That’s cause it’s your arm,” Hyungwon says when Kihyun tells him, eyes not leaving his skin. “Try the ribs or the throat for that fresh flavour of excruciating pain.”

“I think I’m good,” Kihyun says, peering at the outlines on his skin, the blue lines of the stencil slowly disappearing under precise stabs of ink. Tangled ivy, a bed upon which a skull rests, three quarters visible in the circle of its simple medallion. A vanitas, the motif staying with him after that first night spent in Hyungwon’s room just as the moment had and beyond the obvious symbolism maybe this was it, a way to retain and remember, a way to be less afraid.

“Did he pussy out yet?” Minhyuk’s voice resounds as he trudges into the studio unannounced, Hyungwon letting off the foot pedal as he lifts the needle off Kihyun’s skin.

“This is a sterile environment,” he tells Minhyuk, who's peering down at Kihyun from above Hyungwon’s shoulder.

“Are you calling me dirty?” he asks flatly, eyebrows raised.

“I’m calling you loud and obnoxious,” Hyungwon says, dabbing absorbent paper on Kihyun’s skin to get rid of the excess of ink.

“Sorry to say it looks good,” Minhyuk mumbles then, taking a step back as the noise of the electric motor is heard anew, a faint buzzing that had lulled Kihyun to peaceful listlessness until Minhyuk had shown up.

“What are you even doing here?” Kihyun asks, Minhyuk looking around the studio with his hands on his hips.

“Jooheon texted me Hyungwon’s mystery boyfriend was getting inked, but then I come in and it’s just you,” Minhyuk enunciates flatly, mouth pursued.

Hyungwon sighs, the needle leaving Kihyun’s skin once again as he rolls his eyes at the ceiling like a martyr.

“Goddamnit,” he says, “I liked you better when you hated me.”

“Oh, I still do. But I also distinctly remember _someone_ telling me they would never fuck my brother, so now I’m just curious of the happenstances,” Minhyuk says testily, peering closely at the stencil of a whale pinned against the wall.

“The what?” Kihyun croaks just as Hyungwon turns to Minhyuk, bewildered.

“Since when am I your brother?” he asks, Minhyuk throwing his hands to the ceiling.

“Since you’re fucking my best friend!”

“I’m your best friend?” Kihyun asks, feeling distinctly like he’s losing the plot.

“You didn’t know?” Minhyuk replies, and he actually looks stricken, eyes wide and eyebrows raised, Kihyun staring back at him with an indecipherable feeling in his chest.

“Do you guys need a moment?” Hyungwon asks then, “it’s not like I have a tattoo to finish or anything.”

Minhyuk rolls his eyes, turning back to the slather of marine-themed stencils pinned against the wall.

“Who’s doing all the fucking whales?” he asks pointedly, unconcerned by the emotional turmoil he just sent Kihyun in.

“That’s Jooheon,” Hyungwon answers, “I thought you’d know. Our styles are very diff–”

“Yeah I don’t care,” Minhyuk says, turning on his heels. “Imma talk to him, have fun suffering,” he waves a hand above his head, the door to the studio falling shut behind him.

Hyungwon sighs, shaking his head, stepping on the foot pedal to send the needle buzzing as he dips it into the ink, leaning back over Kihyun’s slowly reddening skin.

“Seems like you guys get along well now,” Kihyun ventures, fixating on a point near the ceiling.

“Ha,” Hyungwon guffaws, but then nothing follows.

“I guess so,” he tries again, after a few seconds of silence. “You like him, I had to see what all the fuss was about.”

Kihyun laughs, wincing as the needle stabs into a sensitive spot. Ivy, just like the leaves on Hyungwon’s throat, and a skull staring back at him like a certainty. It’s quiet, then. Calm and tranquil. Just the buzz of the needle, Hyungwon’s focused breaths and his voice, when he leans in to plant a kiss on Kihyun’s lips, his voice whispering in his ear, _I love you, I’ll always have loved you._

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> If anyone asks yes that Wonho character was entirely self-indulging I just like the guy alright
> 
> You can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/BlanquetteAO3)!
> 
> Thank you for reading, and take care!


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